


Phantom's Beauty

by Lady Rosesong (CarmelaCamilla)



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beauty and the Beast, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 328,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmelaCamilla/pseuds/Lady%20Rosesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of The Phantom of the Opera that combines elements from "Disney's Beauty and the Beast." Christine and her violinist father come to the Paris Opera House with hopes of making their musical dreams come true. However, all hopes are shattered after Christine's father is kidnapped by the infamous Phantom. She boldly enters the forbidden catacombs, willing to offer her life for her father's. Dark portrayal of Erik and a very villainous portrayal of Raoul (my "Gaston").</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: I do not own either "Phantom of the Opera" or "Beauty and the Beast". This is purely a work of fiction, nothing more...so please, don't sue. Trust me, it's not worth it, I have nothing!
> 
> Rated M for language, violence, and strong sexual content in later chapters. Please, if you are under the appropriate age to read such content, do not go further.
> 
> Big Thank-you's to my partner in crime and own personal "English Phantom", David, who helped as a beta, idea-pitcher, and motivation coach. Also, tons of thank-yous to the readers who followed this story over on "Aria", and who greatly encouraged me to post on. You guys are the best!
> 
> And without further ado...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine and her father arrive at the Paris Opera House with hopes of making their musical dreams come true. Little do they know, that this beautiful temple to music holds a frightening secret...one that will change their lives forever.

  _ **Overture**_

The two figures dressed in simple peasant clothes gazed up at the massive cathedral, Notre Dame. One of the figures, a young woman, stared at the rose window in fascination, watching the sun hit the glass, causing a rainbow of colors to illumine the pavement below. The other figure, a man who was entering the winter of his life, smiled at the girl next to him. "Paris, Christine. We're in Paris." 

"Paris…" the girl whispered, her eyes still focused on the beauty and majesty before her. They were actually there, in Paris, just as they had always dreamed.

The man sighed and put his arm around the girl's shoulders, gently guiding her away from the majestic cathedral. "Come," he said. "We must get to the Opera House, for that is a treasure in its own right as well."

Christine nodded her head, although she did not look away from the cathedral till they turned a corner. The two walked quickly amongst the busy Parisians of all social classes. From the wealthy who rode in carriages and wore furs and silks, to the beggars who were hobbling on wooden crutches. There was beauty and poverty everywhere, yet none of it tarnished the wonder that Christine saw in the city.

Finally, after a great deal of walking, the two reached the reason they had come to Paris in the first place. There it stood, the beautiful and majestic Opera House, a treasure in its own right, just as the old man had said. They gazed up at the architectural masterpiece, their breath escaping their throats as stone gargoyles stared back at them. Christine was lost in its wonder, but also felt a strange shiver run down her spine. Was it possible for buildings to have eyes? She knew it was a foolish notion, but still…it seemed almost as if it were staring back at her, searching her very soul.

"Christine?"

The girl woke from her trance with a slight jump. "Yes Papa?"

He gestured for her to follow him, as he was already several feet ahead of her. Christine blushed and quickly followed, helping him up the steps towards the front entrance. They had come to Paris with hopes to start a new life. Christine had been born and raised in the country; her father was a musician from Sweden who had come to France with the hope of playing in a great orchestra. However, before he could begin to pursue his dream, he met a beautiful French girl and the two fell madly in love. The girl, Christine's mother, was the daughter of a wealthy aristocrat and Christine's father had little money, barely enough to please the girl's snobbish parents, who naturally refused the union. The two ran away to the country, where they were married by a village priest. They kept themselves hidden, praying that the girl's family would not discover them and force them apart. It would seem however, that instead, the girl's parents cut her off from the family completely, never once attempting to correspond with her.

But despite this sadness, both of Christine's parents made their lives and home a happy one. Christine did not know a day when she wasn't loved. And while some would examine Christine's humble childhood and upbringing with disdain, Christine wouldn't have had it any other way. She regretted nothing about her family or childhood; she was a Daae, and that alone made her heart smile.

Yet at this very moment, as both she and her father passed through the grand doors of the Opera House, for the first time Christine began to feel somewhat embarrassed about who she was and where she came from. There were only a few people in the grand hall, but the ones who were there were elegantly dressed in suits and dresses of fine linen, silk, and lace. The ladies wore hats with tall plush feathers, and the gentlemen carried gloves and silver tipped walking sticks. It was the looks that both Christine and her father received that caused her skin to burn red; the looks of a person who was thinking, _you don't belong here_.

"Papa…" Christine whispered rather timidly. "Perhaps this isn't a good idea…"

Her father, who was lost in the awe of the room and unaware of any hostile looks, turned his gray head swiftly, looking at his daughter as if she had announced she hated music! Which was far from the truth, for he knew his daughter's greatest passion was music. "What are you saying?" he hissed softly, pulling her off to the side. "You thought coming to Paris was a wonderful idea, why are you so against the thought now?"

Christine bit her lip and looked around, trying to ignore the elegant men and women who regarded the two of them with disgust. "We just…I don't know if we can fit in here," she whispered, feeling her cheeks burn brightly, especially at the look her father gave her after she uttered the words.

Yet before he had the opportunity to say anything, a man in a maroon uniform and a bushy black beard appeared before the two of them. "May I help you?" the man asked, although anyone could tell by the tone in his voice that helping a person was the last thing he wanted to do.

Christine's father smiled and gave a short bow. "Monsieur, I have come with hopes that there may be an opening in your company's orchestra. I am a violinist, and while I do not like to boast, I have been told by many, including nobility, that I play exceptionally. In fact, I studied music at the conservatory-"

"Yes, yes, yes, that is all very well," the uniformed man muttered, waving his hand to stop Christine's father from babbling. "And who is this?" the man asked, pointing a figure at Christine who timidly hid behind her father.

"Oh, my daughter, a fine singer if I may add. She-"

"We don't need singers," the man grumbled. "We have too many singers as it is, if you ask me. But…there may be a place for you monsieur," the man then motioned behind him to a door that led off down a dark corridor. "The managers are watching a rehearsal for next week's opera. They would be the ones you would truly wish to speak to. I do not know if they will hire you, the season has already been planned, but…one of our violinists has…gone missing..."

Christine's brow furrowed at this news. Missing? What did that mean? "I would not wish to take another man's place-" Christine's father began, but the man in the maroon uniform quickly cut him off.

"Just go through that door, but be very quiet, La Carlotta is rehearsing."

Both Christine and her father exchanged looks at the name, and then bowed their heads to the uniformed man. "Is La Carlotta a great singer?" Christine quickly asked before the man turned away from them.

The man grimaced. "Some…would think so…"

Her father quickly pulled Christine to his side and hurried through the door the man had indicated. It was a long dark corridor and the further they went, the louder the singing became. Christine felt velvet rub against her arms. She realized that she was surrounded by black curtains, and up ahead she could see bright lights, indicating the stage. The singing grew louder and louder still, reminding Christine of a time her father had taken her to the seashore and there were seagulls squawking on the cliffs above. Her father stopped, and the two gazed through a sliver in the curtains at the beautifully illuminated stage.

So this was what it was like, she thought. She was encased in a world of black velvet, the smell of cigarettes filling the air as stage hands quickly lowered and lifted elaborate scenes by thick ropes and heavy sandbags. And a few feet in front of her, the stage, bathed in golden light, where dancers twirled and singers lifted their voices to the heavens; it was a dazzling picture of rhythmic chaos.

"Those must be the managers," her father whispered, pointing to two men who were dressed in fine suits and exchanging notes with one another while examining the stage. "Wait here," he said, before quickly moving off to the side in hopes to have an audience with the gentlemen.

Christine barely heard a word; she was lost in the spectacle before her. While gazing out through the curtains was nothing compared to sitting in a box, or so she assumed as she had never been in one, it was as if she were gazing at a piece of the world that only God could see. Indeed, this view of the stage felt very sacred.

"Hey!" she jumped at the sound of a gruff voice. A stage hand grabbed her by her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. "What are you doing back here! No one is allowed back here!"

Christine was terrified, especially when she smelled the alcohol on the man's breath. His hands were large and dirty and the way he squeezed her shoulders hurt. He then seemed to look at her differently, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "You best come with me little one…" he slurred.

"N-n-no thank you…" Christine whimpered, wriggling her shoulders out of his grip.

"Come on, Joseph Bouquet won't hurt you…" he reached for her again, but Christine quickly moved out of the way, causing the stage hand to run into a prop, which made him lose his balance, and before he fell completely, he grabbed hold of a piece of scenery and the whole thing came crashing down.

There were several screams by ballet dancers, but none compared to the cry by the prima donna who was nearly knocked over by the crashing piece of scenery. "Cara! Cara my darling!" a rather rotund man reached for the shaken singer who was fanning herself as if to keep from fainting. However, the second the stout little man reached her side, she pushed him away and seemed perfectly fine.

"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS THIS!" the woman screamed, pointing at the crushed scenery. Everyone else was at a loss for words, including the two managers who were simply staring in horror at the stage. Christine turned a deep shade of red, knowing she was in full view for everyone to see. Her father shared the same expression of horror as he locked eyes with hers. "YOU!" Christine jumped as she realized the grand woman was addressing her. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!"

Christine was scared speechless. What could she say? A simple sorry wouldn't necessarily do much good at this point. "WHO ARE YOU!" the woman demanded.

Everyone was surprised, including Christine, when the voice that spoke came from the old man standing next to the managers. "A thousand apologies madam, it was an accident, my daughter didn't mean-"

"YOUR DAUGHTER?" Both Christine and her father regretted the words the second they left his lips. "AND WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!" she demanded.

"Senora, please, do not stress your lovely voice-"

"SHUT UP!" Carlotta barked at the manager who attempted to ease her.

"Monsieur Daae," he gave a deep bow. "And this is my daughter Christine, we have come with hopes that I may find a place in your orchestra, as I was just discussing with these gentlemen. My daughter has a passion for singing and we were hoping that she may also find work in the chorus." It amazed Christine with how calm her father spoke, despite this woman who looked ready to rip one's throat out.

"Is that so?" Carlotta growled, her voice not as loud, yet even more menacing.

"Indeed!" cried one of the managers, quickly stepping in. He was a tall man, middle aged, with a dark mustache. "Monsieur Daae may help us as Monsieur Robert has been missing for quite some time. We are in need of a violinist to fill the man's place."

"Yes, quite so!" remarked the other manager, a slightly older gentleman with a balding head. "After all senora, was it not you who mentioned yesterday that it was impossible for you to find your notes due to the missing violin?"

Carlotta's eyes turned into slits as she gazed upon the managers. "I do not need musical help of any sort, my talents are gifts from God!" she spat. "And as for that man and this…this…little…country bumpkin!" she retorted, looking upon Christine with fury, "I will not perform on this stage knowing that a little stupid clumsy-"

There was a loud groan and suddenly a figure rose from a heap of black curtains, belching as he came to his feet. "Joseph Bouquet!" the mangers said at once.

The stage hand turned to look at the people on the stage, all of whom were staring at him with surprise. "W-w-what?" he hiccupped.

"The man is drunk!" one of the mangers cried.

"And it was he who caused the accident!" the other shouted.

"Shame on you!" they both yelled.

Joseph Bouquet simply looked confused.

The rotund man who had shown great concern for Carlotta earlier stepped forward and slapped Joseph Bouquet hard across the face. "You nearly killed my beloved Cara!" he accused. "You drunken lout! Apologize to her at once and then leave this place immediately!"

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "Do shut up Ubaldo," she groaned.

However the mangers were quick to agree with Ubaldo Piangi, the Opera's leading tenor. "Indeed! You're fired Bouquet!"

Joseph Bouquet's only response was another disgusting belch.

"So you see madam?" Christine's father quickly intervened. "It was all a mistake; my daughter had nothing to do with this accident."

Carlotta hated to be proven wrong, and she hated it even more when she couldn't have her way. "If we must have a new violinist, then so be it, but I will NOT have that girl share the same stage as me!"

"Of course not!" both managers quickly appeased. Carlotta gave one final glare to the petrified girl, then turned on her heel and exited the stage with Piangi right behind her.

Everyone let out a long weary sigh of relief. "Daae?" addressed Firmin. "You must understand this is a trial period. We don't normally hire men right off the street, there are plenty of people out there who can play a violin for a few coins. But we are desperate right now for someone to fill Monsieur Robert's place."

"I understand," he whispered.

"If Monsieur Robert does not return, and if you do as well as is expected, you may stay and take his place in the orchestra," Andre, the taller of the two managers, added.

Christine's father gave another low bow. "Thank you monsieurs. And…my daughter?"

"Yes, your daughter," both managers grumbled, looking at Christine who was desperately trying to help some of the stage hands and dancers with fixing the fallen set. "We are in no need of singers, our chorus is quite full and the season is already scheduled. But…" Firmin glanced at the girl. "We may find some place for her in the costume department or something like that."

"Oh! Thank you monsieurs! Thank you so-"

"Yes, yes," Firmin muttered with a wave of his hand. "Seek Madame Giry, the ballet mistress; she will help get the two of you settled. Come Andre, we must talk, I'm afraid there's been another note…"

Andre rolled his eyes to heaven. "Not another one! What are his demands this time?"

"The usual," Firmin muttered, "and then of course, some others as well."

The two managers stalked off, grumbling and complaining all the way. Christine then came to her father's side, looking hopeful for him. "So? Will they let you play?"

He smiled at her and nodded his head, although his smile quickly changed. "I'm afraid I couldn't get you a place in the chorus, I'm so sorry-"

"Oh Papa, please, don't apologize, I do not need to be in the chorus, it matters more that you can play as you've always dreamed."

"But my child, you have dreamed of singing on the stage, have you not?"

Christine shook her head, although it was flat faced lie and her father knew it. She did have dreams of singing on the stage, but there were more important things, such as getting food on the table. And right now, there best chances were for her father.

He sighed and put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "Come, we must find this Madame Giry, she is to help us find lodging." Christine nodded and followed her father, although before she did, she felt an odd eerie feeling…as if she were being watched again. She looked up to the boxes but saw nothing. Her imagination running wild again, she mused. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if such a place, as old and majestic as this, could be haunted? Her mother read gothic romances and mystery tales to her as a child, causing Christine to stay awake at night afraid of what the darkness would bring, but also filling her with excitement at the turn of every page. It was foolish, she knew, but this place seemed to resemble so many of those tales. The thought of ghosts was rather exciting, and perhaps even a little romantic

Her father called her name, and she quickly turned and hurried after him, yet gazing one last time at the auditorium. Paris…they were truly here! And they were in the Paris Opera House, and she was standing on its stage! She sighed dreamily, imagining what it would be like to perform. But her sigh turned to one of sadness. That was all it could be…a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Some quick explaining, as I do not want ANY confusion when it comes to this! A year or two ago fanfiction.net when through a purge where stories that broke the site rules were removed. Unfortunately, this wonderful story did, and was deleted. The authoress, Lady Rosesong, has been MIA since 2008 and attempts at contacting her have been unsuccessful.
> 
> I suppose it was good luck, really. I went through a time where, because of my limited Internet access, I'd copy fanfictions onto a Word document so I could read them later without being online. This story was one of the many I saved. At first I was reluctant to repost it, but seeing so many people leave reviews on her other stories, asking where it is and regretting being unable to finish it, I decided to go through with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine begins to suspect that the opera house is truly haunted...and she is not wrong.

  _ **Intrigue**_

A pleasured sigh escaped his lips. He sucked in a deep breath and groaned as he felt his body release the rigid tension that had him at bay, finally giving way to the brief sensation of pleasure.

"Did I please you monsieur?"

He groaned, awoken from his trance by the woman's voice. Yes, the pleasure was pleasing, but always brief.

"You pleased me very much, my dear," he grunted, pulling his newly spent cock back inside his trousers. The woman seemed to pout a bit, but only momentarily, and quickly rose from her knees to her feet.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, monsieur?"

He didn't want to look at her. This was the part he always hated. He was a man with needs like any other, and when he needed release from the cravings of the flesh, he knew exactly where to find them. The city was littered with prostitutes who were willing to do far more than he had asked of this woman. However, he wanted to keep the encounters as brief as possible. After he received what he wanted, he would give the women what they wanted. "Here," he muttered, tossing the woman several gold coins.

The woman's eyes widened in amazement. "But monsieur, this is too much for a mere-"

"My dear," he whispered, with as much calmness as he could muster, "you are a woman of great talent. You deserve every penny."

The woman said nothing, she wasn't about to argue over money. She quickly tucked the coins into her bodice, yet attempted to peer past the shadows that covered her customer's face. She had seen him before; this wasn't the first encounter the two of them had shared. He was a mysterious man; only seeking out "company" long after dark, and always refusing to go indoors. He preferred dark lonely alleys and hard stone walls to soft feather beds. She had seen him here with other girls as well, sometimes seeking the pleasure she had provided for him, sometimes seeking more. But he himself never changed, always sticking close to the shadows and keeping his face covered with the collar of his cape. She shrugged her shoulders, thinking it didn't really matter what he wore or how he behaved, so long as she got paid.

"Shall I be seeing you again soon monsieur? Are you sure there isn't anything I can-"

"Yes," he growled. The woman jumped at the sound of his voice, not expecting the frightening tone. He quickly began to move away from the woman, holding onto his last strand of sanity. "You've been paid, now go, quickly…and don't say a word about any of this," he warned, before turning on his foot and disappearing into the shadows, his cape billowing behind him. The woman had no idea how lucky she was, he thought disdainfully. If she had spoken one more word, his patience would have fled entirely and there was no telling what he would have done. Indeed, it was good that he left when he had.

Quickly, silently and swiftly, looking like a bat in the night air, he returned to his sanctuary, where the demons that threatened to consume him could be kept at bay by the power of his genius.

* * *

She gazed out the window at the night sky, pleading for the clouds to reveal the glow of the silver moon and allow its welcoming beams to illuminate her tiny bedroom. She sighed, leaning her head against the hard iron window frame, knowing it was a lost cause. There was a storm in the air; she could feel it in her bones. Years of living in the country had hued such detection skills within her. Christine sighed again and wrapped her arms around her body, shivering, but not from the cold night air.

She had awoken only a few moments ago from a strange dream that caused her body to tremble violently. She was confused; her surroundings were strange and after a brief moment's pause, she remembered that both she and her father were staying at a cheap flat only a few streets away from the Opera House. Indeed, she could see its domes rising over the rooftops in front of her. And once again, she had that strange feeling that it was looking right back at her, even through her…

"Oh Mama," she whispered, feeling like a child and wishing for her mother's soothing voice to calm her and tell her everything would be alright. That despite the stories Christine begged her mother to tell, there really were no such thing as monsters or ghosts. Christine cursed herself for thinking earlier that ghosts were romantic. She was lost in the beauty of the Opera House; now after having that strange dream, she felt ghosts could be anything but.

"Maybe it wasn't a ghost," she whispered to herself. "Maybe it really was a man…" she shook her head, feeling so foolish for analyzing something that meant nothing to her. It was a nightmare, pure and simple. And now she was awake and the dream was gone. She was safe, and things for both she and her father were going to be alright. He was to play the violin for the orchestra, and she was…going to work as Carlotta's costume girl. The very thought turned Christine's stomach.

She recalled how her father would not stop apologizing to her that whole afternoon while they moved into their new flat. "I can always tell them that I won't play if you are not given a place in the chorus-" She stopped him immediately and scolded him for daring to think such things.

She reasoned with her father, explaining to him that she was still young, she had plenty of opportunity in her life to be a singer, and she could always audition for the next season. And they could not afford to play such silly games with the managers to simply cater to her dreams. This was their only chance of survival. Christine cursed the family of her mother, hating them for buying the farm right out from under her father and throwing both of them off their own land. It was done as a punishment for "stealing" their precious daughter, a girl with whom they had not contacted since the day she ran away to be with Christine's father.

They had no where else to go except Paris. And if her father had been refused, then the only other option would be the streets.

Yet things were going to be alright, she reminded herself. While his position was deemed merely temporary, she was sure that once her father played for the orchestra, they would find something permanent for him. He was such a great musician, and it was he who inspired her love for music. That evening, before they had gone to bed, he played a few tunes on his violin and she sang along. It was just as if they were back on their small country farm. Christine sighed again and quickly wiped the tear that was threatening to trickle down her cheek. While the splendor of the city was certainly dazzling, she missed her simple home.

She gazed one last time at the Opera House before shutting her window and returning to bed. She would dream of singing, instead of ghosts and monsters. She would work hard to win Carlotta's favor and audition for the company the following season. Yes, that was what she would concentrate on. She smiled at her determined thoughts, and closed her eyes, waiting for her dreams of singing at the Opera House to fill her head.

But it was a different music that invaded her senses, a passionate melody that haunted her being. Somewhere in the night, across the miles of darkness, there was music; a sad sweet song that squeezed at her heart. And when she dreamt, it was that song she sang.

* * *

The day had been long for Madame Giry, the rigid ballet mistress that all the stage hands feared. No one dared to cross paths with her, not even Carlotta. Everyone believed that Madame Giry's icy demeanor came from an old knee injury that prevented her from ever dancing again, or the fact that her own daughter was the rising star of the ballet, and she was being over protective. If they only knew the whole truth, she thought to herself. Yes, it had been a long day indeed; after a vigorous rehearsal she was left to find lodgings for the new violinist and his daughter. She didn't say much to either of them, yet observed the two closely, judging whether or not they could be trusted. Satisfied that they could be, she thought despite the late hour, now was as good a time as any to tell him of the day's events.

There were many secret passages that led to his lair; she knew about half of them. She also knew where to avoid the traps he set for intruders. Dressed in her traditional matron's black, she walked with dignity through the tunnels to where there was light burning in the distance, as well as the rising cords of organ music.

As she grew closer, there were movements off to the side. Any other person would have run screaming, but she continued on, nodding her head to the figures that watched from the shadows. Finally, she came upon a clearing in the cavern, where hundreds of candles lit the room, illuminating the space in an orange glow. In one corner sat a caped figure, hard at work over a piece of music.

"I do not recall inviting you here madam," spoke a cold dark voice.

"I was not aware I needed an invitation, monsieur," she replied just as coldly.

The figure chuckled. "It would never matter; you come as you please, just like me."

Madame Giry felt the corners of her lips twitch at that. "We are more alike than you can imagine, Erik."

He made a sound to her words and continued going over the score in front of him. She stood silently while he played several cords on the organ before him, before stopping and examining the music again.

"A new opera?"

He smiled. "I'm already hard at work planning the next season." He picked up a pen and made a few changes on the sheet of music. "So what brings you here besides the dazzling conversation?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Madame Giry was not one to beat around the bush so she spoke quite plainly. "The managers hired a new violinist."

Erik dropped the pen and his muscles went rigid. "Today?"

"Yes."

He slowly turned to face the ballet mistress, his eyes ablaze with fury. "When did this take place?" he asked, his voice fighting for calmness.

Madame Giry knew he did not like it when anyone focused on his face. She glanced briefly to see whether he was masked or not. She was pleased to see that he was. "Just this afternoon, around three. I did come to tell you shortly after dusk, but…I learned you were otherwise…engaged."

Erik ignored the disgust in her voice and brushed past her to where he kept more parchment. She sighed and continued speaking. "Are you truly surprised? They have been in desperate need of a new violinist since…the rather surprising 'disappearance' of Monsieur Robert…" she watched him for any reaction, but received none. "Erik, what did you do with the man? Was his playing that offensive to you?"

He ignored her statements, showing no emotion to any of her words. "Who is this man, this new violinist?" he demanded, not looking her.

Typical, she thought. "His name is Daae."

"Means nothing to me," Erik icily replied, brushing past her again to the organ. He sat down and began furiously writing notes on the new parchment. "Can he play?"

Madame Giry sighed. "I have not yet heard him, but I do believe he will do the orchestra good."

Erik scoffed at her words. "Amazing how a man who has not even played is regarded as a musical genius." He was extremely displeased. He knew the managers of the Opera House were idiots, but he never thought they would hire a random person off the streets who held a violin in his hands.  
Madame Giry knew he was extremely upset. Erik disliked change, and quite frankly, he had been in a bad mood for the past two years ever since Firmin and Andre became the Opera House managers. Unlike all the others before them, these two didn't follow Erik's instructions very well, not to mention their love for money was far greater than their love for music and art. Hence why Carlotta was the star. "And those fools actually think they run this theater," he growled beneath his breath.

"Please be kind Erik, they have no where else to go," Madame Giry pleaded.

Erik's head popped up from his writing. "They?"

She sighed. "Yes, Monsieur Daae and his daughter."

Erik rolled his eyes and groaned loudly, before arranging the music just so and trying the new notes on the organ. "I detest children; I will not allow a child to run around in my theater!"

"Mademoiselle Daae is a woman, Erik."

He stopped his playing momentarily. "Oh?"

"Yes…a girl still, if you ask me. She just turned 20."

"Ah, I see," he whispered, before resuming his playing. "A spinster then."

Madame Giry rolled her eyes. "Hardly. She is no older than my own daughter, and she had hopes of joining the chorus-"

"Do not tell me they hired her too?" Erik groaned, turning and looking at the ballet mistress. "We don't need any more singers! We have the right amount for pitch and quality; I thought that was perfectly clear to those fools!" Erik stood up swiftly, knocking over the stool he was sitting on. He began to furiously pace, his breathing becoming harsh and uneven. "The only singer I would welcome is someone to replace that harpy they have warbling day after day! That, madam, is why I must flee this place now and then…if I don't, I'll become madder than I already am…" he sighed and slowed his pacing, however his large powerful hands were tightened into fists. If he could, he would kill Carlotta this very night, and he would have no regrets whatsoever. It was this infernal woman's pleas that kept him from doing so. It was also the fact that Carlotta, being a supposed "star" would no doubt cause a riot of some kind. But one day, if things went too far, he would throw caution to the wind and do what he had been longing to do ever since she first stepped foot in his Opera House and opened her mouth.

Madame Giry saw the rage written across Erik's masked face and quickly continued, hoping it would calm him. "Mademoiselle Daae was not hired for the chorus…she is to work as Carlotta's costume girl."

Erik relaxed somewhat, but a new rage began to spread within him. "These fools will hire anyone, won't they?" He began to pace again. "A costume girl is even worse! Gives her more of an excuse to snoop around! She could trespass easily, and then I would be forced to take matters into my own hands, and you know as well as I, madam, that I can not abide trespassers." His voice was dark and cold. It sent a shiver down Madame Giry's spine, for she had seen what Erik had done to previous trespassers.

"I warned them both about not going below the stage or taking unknown corridors."

"Do better," he hissed, before stomping back to the organ and fixing the stool so he could resume playing. Erik was one who treated music as precious glass…yet at the moment he was banging the keys with a blind fury.

Madame Giry took a deep breath, knowing there was only one way to calm his anger. "Carlotta accused the young lady for trying to murder her…"

Erik suddenly stopped his playing, his head perking up at the words. "Really? Go on..."

Madame Giry couldn't help but smirk. "Carlotta was rehearsing and Mademoiselle Daae was watching from behind the curtains. Apparently a stage hand attempted to grab Mademoiselle Daae, who side stepped him, causing him to run into a piece of scenery which nearly crushed the managers' beloved star."

Erik rarely laughed, but he found himself grinning at this tale. "Tis a pity the scenery did not succeed," his playing became softer and gentler. "And La Carlotta accused the girl?"

"Yes," Madame Giry replied. "Although it was not her fault. It was Joseph Bouquet who caused the accident…" she paused before continuing. "You should know that he was fired."

Erik only momentarily paused from his playing. "That shouldn't bother you," he whispered. "I recall you cursing his name many times for his leering at your precious dancers."

"True," Madame Giry said. "After all, the man was a drunkard, as well as a lout. But I know in some strange way he did you some good."

Erik nodded his head. "Joseph Bouquet told more dark tales about me than any of my notes could have done. Because of him not one stage hand or ballerina dares go far below the stage." He turned the music and continued his playing, the music calmer, sweeter. "Still, it is a small loss…the time would have eventually come when I would not have been able to stand the man and have killed him myself."

"Erik-"

"My dear lady, when are you going to get a sense of humor?"

She eyed him warily. "Perhaps when your jokes are actually funny."

He couldn't help but grin a little at that. "Touché, madam, touché."

She sighed and turned as if to go, but paused momentarily. "You will not harm them, will you?"

Erik did not miss one beat of his playing. "If you are referring to Monsieur Daae and his little charge, then no…so long as his playing is decent and she stays in her place and they all follow my rules."

Satisfied by this answer, Madame Giry turned to leave. Like their greeting, there were no formalities when they parted. She climbed the steps and took the passages that led her out of Erik's purgatory to the human world. All the while, his music followed her every step.

Erik continued his playing, however his mind was wandering to the news that was recently shared with him. He wasn't sure why, but he was deeply intrigued by the Opera House's new tenants. He would have to pay a visit to Monsieur Daae and his charming daughter. He found himself wondering about her, wondering what she was like, how she looked, whether she had a love for music. Could the girl sing? Madame Giry said that she had hopes to join the chorus. He brushed the thought away, knowing there were many women who auditioned year after year to sing in the Opera, and few had talent of any kind. This girl was probably no different from them…yet why did this unknown woman intrigue him so?

The tensions that drove him out earlier were beginning to rise again. No amount of music could soothe this need. He cursed his weakness and adjusted his cloak so that his masked face could be hidden. Damn him, and damn this girl for causing such weakness. Indeed, he would find out more about her, and perhaps, just perhaps, she could satisfy these primal urges that possessed his soul and kept him as a beast, instead of a man.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine and her father continue to get settled at the opera house, but life is not easy when one is working for Carlotta. Or when a handsome nobleman takes a like to you, who appears to wear his charm like a mask... (WARNING: graphic sexual content within)

_**Masquerade** _

The elegant carriage pulled up in front of the Opera House causing several people on the street to stop and whisper amongst themselves. The driver quickly jumped down from his seat to open the door for the carriage's occupant. Several ladies who were walking stopped and stared at the figure that arose from the carriage; those who were holding fans immediately began to rapidly fan themselves.

He was a tall man, slim but muscular as was the fashion at the time. He was elegantly dressed in a gray suit with a high collar, his black shoes polished and glistening, his white tie tucked into his slightly ruffled tunic. A top hat made of black satin crowned his golden blonde mane which feathered just slightly off his neck; he tipped it to the ladies who were admiring his emergence. He stepped down from the carriage steps, muttering words to his coachman while he placed his gray linen gloves over his long tapered fingers. He lifted his eyes to the Opera House and smiled; his face was clean shaven, his posture straight, his teeth white, his eyes a sparkling green. And when he began to walk up those steps, there seemed to be this air of power that followed him with every step and tap of his ebony cane. He was like Apollo, dazzling at first sight, and forever burning an image within your mind's eye after he had disappeared from view.

Inside the Opera House, things were well underway for the opera that would be kicking off the season in a matter of days. Ballet dancers were frantically perfecting their steps, while stage hands worked on sets and the orchestra tuned their instruments. Christine's father was turning out to be the toast of the orchestra. In a matter of hours he was close to perfecting the score for the upcoming opera; the managers were well pleased with their decision.

Sadly, Christine herself was not having the same good fortune. When Carlotta first discovered that Christine was to be her costume girl, she had a fit that could rival the most spoiled of children. She screamed, stamped her feet, swore in Italian, and then stomped off to lock herself away in her dressing room for a good hour, while the managers stood outside her door and pleaded for her to come out. Christine rolled her eyes to the whole incident, thinking that despite Senora Carlotta's elegant dresses and years of stage experience, a dog could both sing and act better. While the managers pleaded, Christine busied herself with her tasks, mending costumes that had snares, and ironing ones with wrinkles. She delicately laid them out, examining them closely to see if she had missed any repair work, all the while feeling as if someone…or something, were watching her.

Ever since she and her father had arrived that morning, Christine had the suspicion she was being watched. By whom, she had no idea, for every time she turned her head to look, she saw no one. The feeling was strange; most of the time she felt chilled and uneasy, but she would also feel admired and…she blushed when she recalled feeling somewhat, aroused. She shook her head to the whole thing, believing that once again, it was her imagination running wild. And any other thoughts on the matter were quickly disposed of as Carlotta returned, dabbing her nose and eyes with the handkerchief Firmin had given her. Andre, Firmin, and Ubaldo Piangi followed, each filling the air with praises to her. The whole thing made Christine sick.

Carlotta waved her hand, which temporarily stopped the three men from making further idiots of themselves, and turned to Christine. "I have decided I will allow you to continue being my costume girl," she sweetly purred, a fake smile creasing the corners of her lips.

Christine stared at the woman.

Carlotta's sweet smile was beginning to fade. Her arms were folded and she was tapping her foot, as if waiting for Christine to fall to her knees and thank God above for granting her this fine honor. Was the woman that conceited?

"Well?"

Christine jumped at the sudden bark that escaped the prima donna's lips. Carlotta quickly smoothed back a silky blonde curl that had escaped from her shout. She smiled again at Christine and said in that sweet voice she had used earlier, "Have you nothing to say, my dear?"

Christine wanted to tell the woman what she really thought. She wanted to tell Carlotta she had no talent, that while she strutted across the stage like a peacock, she sounded like a crow. She wanted to tell the woman that her behavior was disgusting and that there were more important things going on in the world than how one's hair looks or what fabric one's dress is made from. She wanted to scream, and perhaps even strike the woman…but she remembered her father and how desperately they needed this. So she swallowed her pride and lifted her chin.

"I have repaired the silk ball gown you were planning to wear for the opening gala."

Carlotta stared at the girl. Christine showed no emotion on her face, but inside she was laughing at the blank expression she was receiving from the so-called great star. Not the answer La Carlotta was expecting, let alone looking for, but it was not one she could scream at either.

"What a handy little thing you are," she said through clenched teeth, mustering all the sweetness her voice could create. Fake pleasantness was perhaps the worst acting Carlotta could do.

Christine smiled, placing the gown gently back down on the table, while the managers and Piangi exchanged worried looks between one another, knowing that the young woman was playing with fire. "Well!" Andre interrupted. "I must say, keep up the good work mademoiselle, you'll do fine in the opera business I'm sure!"

Carlotta only gave Christine a cold smile. "Yes my dear, do show me what else you've accomplished. I can see that life in the country has perfected your skills in…humble domestic crafts."

Christine flinched to the stinging words, but refused to show Carlotta any sign of their effect. "I shall…there is one that I have pinned together that was literally falling to pieces…" She turned to retrieve the dress, while Carlotta took the hot iron Christine had used earlier and placed it, hot side up, near Christine's arm. The second the girl turned back, she gave a yelp of pain as her skin made contact with the iron, causing her to drop the dress in her hands onto the floor (thus sending pins and pieces flying every which way) and to knock the iron over with her elbow and land on a beautiful white silk gown.

"AH! YOU CLUMSLY LITTLE FOOL! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO MY COSTUME!"

The managers turned quickly to Carlotta's shouts, and Piangi was by her side in a second. "My darling! What happened? What did the wretched girl do?"

Christine was still rubbing the painful burn on her arm before she realized what had happened. She gasped and lifted the iron off the dress, but the damage had already been done. A large brown stain and several tiny holes remained on the dress as souvenirs from the iron. Christine lifted her shocked eyes to Carlotta's face, surprised and enraged upon seeing the smirk in the woman's eyes. "This…this little idiot has ruined two of my costumes!" she shouted to both Piangi and the managers who had rushed to her side. "She has not only ruined the gown I must wear for Faust by sticking atrocious pieces of fabric to it, but she has also burnt a hole in the silk gown I must wear for Hannibal!"

Firmin and Andre stared at Christine, not sure what to say, but knowing if they did not do something quickly, Carlotta would explode. "Don't just stand there, fire this wretched little thing!" Piangi shouted in defense of Carlotta. He attempted to wrap his arm around her but she shrugged it off immediately.

"F-f-fire her?" Andre asked, glancing at Firmin with worried eyes. With only five days till the opening night of the opera season, they needed Daae to play in the orchestra more than ever. If they fired the girl they knew they would lose him too. But they couldn't displease Carlotta either! They were in a very tight spot indeed. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement senora-"

"Arrangment?" Carlotta exclaimed. "There will be no arrangement! This stupid little-"

A gruff male cough interrupted Carlotta's shrieks. "Um…beg your pardon, but is this a bad time?"

The managers and Carlotta turned their heads and all exclaimed at once, "MONSIEUR!"

Christine, whose cheeks were still burning red from both Carlotta's cruel words and foul tricks, stared at the man with whom the others appeared to be enamored. He was very handsome; tall, blonde, and obviously wealthy judging by the clothes he wore. He looked right past the admiring managers who were crowding around him and stared into her eyes. She felt her knees go weak and reached out to clutch the table at her side.

"Good day," he said with an elegant bow of his head. Christine swallowed the lump in her throat and gave the man a small curtsey. He smiled at her and she felt that strange feeling in her knees again. "Well, who is this pretty little thing?" he asked the managers who were still singing praises into his ears.

"Who? Oh! Just the new costume girl. Monsieur, we are so pleased you came to see us today. As you can see, we are well underway in preparing for the opening gala-"

"Yes, yes, it is all looking wonderful Andre," the man said with a wave of his hand, his smile still remaining on Christine. "And what is your name, mademoiselle?"

Christine stared for a long time at the man, trying to find her voice, but it was Carlotta who spoke in her stead. "What does it matter? The girl is incompetent with costumes, as I'm sure she is with everything!" she thrusted the burnt dress in the man's face. "See what I have to put up with monsieur?" she pouted. The man gave a weak smile to the prima donna before turning and looking to the managers for answers.

"Oh! Um…" Firmin glanced at Christine, trying to remember the name. "Daae…Catherine Daae, I believe."

Christine frowned and lifted her chin, looking directly into the handsome man's eyes. "My name is-"

"Silence!" Carlotta barked, throwing the burnt gown in Christine's face. She then turned and smiled sweetly up at the gentleman. "My dear monsieur, had I been expecting your surprise visit I would have dressed more elegantly for you." The man smiled warmly at Carlotta as she batted her eyes, causing Piangi to fidget with jealousy.

Christine glanced back and forth between the handsome man and the cow that had burnt her. The two acted as if they knew each other…rather well.

"Monsieur, um…we have some matters of business to discuss with you. There have been some notes-"

"All in good time Firmin," the man answered without taking his eyes off Carlotta. "I first have some matters of business to go over with Senora Giudicelli. She has written to me of her displeasure with the way things are run here…" he glanced at the managers, the handsome smile disappearing and being replaced with a serious frown.

"D-d-d-displeasure?" both men stuttered, looking at one another and Carlotta in horror.

"Yes," Carlotta snapped, linking her arm with that of the handsome man. "Much displeasure and hiring that girl is now on the top of my list!" she began to lead the man away from the managers who were too flabbergasted to utter a single word. "Come monsieur," she said with a twirl of her skirts. "Let us go to my dressing room to talk things over."

The man turned his head back to Christine and gave her one last charming smile before he was literally dragged away by the boorish opera star. Christine's face continued to burn as she watched the two walk away, her emotions confused. Yes, the man was indeed handsome, and his smile appeared warm and inviting, while his words and manner were quite charming. But there was something about him that didn't seem right; it was probably the company he seemed to prefer to keep.

The managers finally dashed away, both pale and stuttering worries about what must be done to please Carlotta. Ubaldo Piangi immediately followed in Carlotta's wake, trying to catch up with the pair. Christine sighed, looking at the burnt costume in her hands, wishing she had intentionally caused the burn with Carlotta in the costume. She bent down to retrieve the dress that had fallen apart on the ground when a small voice caught her attention.

"I can't believe it…he actually spoke to you!"

Christine glanced up, seeing that the voice belonged to a petite ballet dancer with reddish blonde curls and wide eyes. It was Meg Giry, the lead dancer and daughter of the ballet mistress. "Do you know who that was?" she asked Christine, her voice filled with excitement. Christine shook her head, confused at Meg's behavior.

"Meg! Was it him? Has he come back?"

Meg grinned and nodded her head to several other ballet girls who were standing back a little ways. The group burst into squeals and excited shrieks. Christine needed answers. "Who is he?" she asked, rather irritably.

The girls looked at one another, rolled their eyes, and then exploded into giggles again. Meg however kept some composure, at least enough to explain. "He's the Vicomte de Chagny!" Christine's blank expression forced the girl to continue. "The highest paying patron of the Paris Opera House!"

At last it all fitted together. That was why the managers were falling over themselves and why they panicked at Carlotta's mention of displeasure. Christine stared after the direction the Vicomte had disappeared, feeling like a fool for thinking that for a moment he admired her, and that she thought him kind and charming. She may have lived in the country all her life, but Christine was no fool; a man with wealth and a title only looked at a woman in her situation for one thing.

"Girls!" the dancers stopped their giggling and quickly scampered back to where they should have been practicing. Madame Giry emerged from the curtains and looked crossly at all of them. "Meg!" she barked at the embarrassed girl. "What is the meaning of this?"

Meg fidgeted and bit her lip. "I'm sorry Mama, it was just…" Madame Giry lifted a dark eyebrow, awaiting her daughter's answer. "It was just…well…we saw the Vicomte de Chagny, and-"

Madame Giry's face paled at the name. "The Vicomte is here?"

Meg nodded her head, her face turning from embarrassment to worry. "Mama, are you alright?"

Madame Giry gave her head a quick shake to compose herself and lifted her chin, her face returning to its cold expression. "Do not let me catch you or any of the other girls wandering away when you should be practicing," she ordered through tight lips. Meg nodded her head, still looking concerned, but scampered off in the direction the other dancers had gone.

Christine stared up at the ballet mistress whose face returned to one of worry. She wrung her hands together, fidgeting slightly, biting her lip, and glancing about wildly. "Madame? Are…are you alright?" Christine rose to her feet and placed one hand gently on the woman's arm. "Is there anything I can get you? A glass of water perhaps?"

Madame Giry finally acknowledged Christine, but her expression did not change. "Where did he go?" was all she asked.

What was going on? "He left with Senora Carlotta…they are going to discuss 'business matters' in her dressing room."

Madame Giry lifted an eyebrow at Christine's statement. "Well he'll be occupied for some time," she muttered under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

Madame Giry looked at Christine and smiled at her. Despite what the stage hands may have muttered about the woman, Christine could tell the ballet mistress truly had a warm heart of gold under the cold exterior she showed. "Thank you my dear, but no, I'm truly fine." Without another word she turned and quickly walked away, leaving a confused Christine in her wake.

* * *

"Cara, I must implore that I stay-"

Carlotta groaned and gave Piangi the cruelest of looks. "Be gone! I have many important matters to discuss with the Vicomte and I do not need you breathing down my bodice!"

The Vicomte de Chagny couldn't help but chuckle at the prima donna's words. He stood just outside Carlotta's dressing room with Ubaldo Piangi blocking the entranceway. The stout little man was loyal, one could not deny that. It amazed the Vicomte that despite Carlotta's obvious displeasure for the man, he still willingly remained her lap dog.

Piangi continued to glance back and forth between the Vicomte and Carlotta with unease. He didn't like it when this man came for visits. He didn't care that the man was rich, or that he was the reason both he and Carlotta had jobs at the Paris Opera House. He saw the way his lovely Cara looked at the man, and vice versa.

Carlotta sighed and realized it was time to resort to other necessary battle moves. "Ubaldo," she said in a sweet manipulative voice. "Why do you worry? Do you think my virtue is in danger if I allow the Vicomte into my dressing room?"

Piangi bit his lip and shifted back and forth a little, glancing at the Vicomte with slight distrust. Carlotta smiled and reached out to caress the tenor's face. "I admire your chivalry. You truly are my knight in shining armor." Her voice was dripping with fake sweetness, yet Piangi was enamored.

He was cracking. "I assure you I will be quite safe…and I will cry out if I am in need…but I will be perfectly fine. And knowing you are near warms my heart and fills me with such…" she leaned close and planted a soft meek kiss on the tenor's lips. "…passion."

She had won. Piangi melted away from the dressing room door and smiled bashfully at his lady love. She smiled back and winked at him, while she disappeared into the room, the Vicomte merely smirking behind her. The second they had entered the dressing room, she slammed the door shut, locked it, and began to spit. "Eh! The stench of him is all over me. I'll have to burn this dress!"

The Vicomte continued to smirk, placing his hat and gloves on her dressing table. "He's quite attached to you, more than ever I see…and quite suspicious…"

Carlotta groaned. "Do not remind me! And to think…I have to kiss him in the opera we are performing!"

She squealed when she felt two powerful hands grab her by the shoulders and twirled her around. She found herself being pressed to the Vicomte's body, and she went limp the second she felt his hard frame mold to her own. "How will I be able to control myself then? Seeing you on stage with him…" one of his hands went up to her hair and began to pull the pins out, causing the blonde curls to fall across her shoulders. "…in his arms…" his hands moved to her skirts and he began to hike them up to her hips. "…kissing him…" his lips captured hers and she melted even more, returning the passionate kiss and clawing at his dress coat.

The Vicomte pulled back immediately. "Careful!" he hissed, removing her hands and looking at the coat to be sure it wasn't damaged. "This was quite expensive, I'll have you know."

Carlotta pouted and folded her arms crossly as he carefully removed the coat from his body. "I don't seem to recall you ever feeling a need to be careful with my expensive gowns!"

The Vicomte grinned, and purposely placed his coat on top of a large white box that was sitting at the chair before her dressing table. Carlotta's eyes followed where his coat went, and she looked at him for confirmation. When he nodded, she squealed happily and tore at the box like a child at Christmas. He had to carefully remove the coat again.

"OH! Monsieur, it is most beautiful…" she whispered, pulling the elegant gown from the box. It was pink, with blue ruffles and black lace. There was a billowy train and a very low neckline that glittered with black and pink sequins. Most people would look at such a gown and find it atrocious, however the Vicomte had long since learned that Carlotta's taste in fashion was just that.

"Now you truly can burn that gown," he chuckled, coming closer to place kisses on the back of Carlotta's neck while his expert fingers began to undo the buttons on her present dress.

Carlotta whimpered at his touch and leaned back against him. "It has been far too long monsieur since our last encounter…I was beginning to think you had forgotten me…"

"You?" he said with mock horror. "Never…" while one hand continued to undo the buttons, the other climbed higher and began to sink beneath the bodice of her dress. She moaned when she felt the Vicomte's hand close around one breast. He smiled at her reaction and leaned closer, his lips tickling her ear as he nibbled the lobe slightly. "Now…I have a favor to ask of you…" his fingers found her hardened nipple and she gasped as he began to cruelly play with it.

"Mmmmmmmmmm…a-a-a-anything…" she whimpered, leaning back and purposely pushing her lush bottom against his trouser-covered cock. He groaned at the movement, but years of experience in the art of lovemaking had taught him self-control.

"Good girl…" he hissed, biting her neck briefly, while his other hand moved to lift up her skirts. "I want you to tell me…" her skirts were up to her thighs. "…everything you can…" he pushed the stockings and garters down. "…about your adorable little costume girl…"

Carlotta's eyes flew open and she pushed the Vicomte's hands away before tearing herself away from his body. "WHAT?"

Raoul sighed and closed his eyes momentarily to prepare himself for the shrieks that were to follow.

"WHY THE HELL DO YOU WANT TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HER? SHE'S GARBAGE, SHE'S SLIME, SHE'S-"

"Be quiet!" The Vicomte snapped. "Do you want all of Paris to hear you?"

The fire in Carlotta's eyes grew wilder. "FUCK PARIS! I DON'T CARE IF ALL OF FRANCE HEARS ME! ANSWER ME WHY YOU WANT TO KNOW!"

The Vicomte stared back at Carlotta, his hands closing into tight fists of rage, eager to wrap themselves around the soprano's pretty neck and snap it in two. However, he knew the best way to handle situations like this was not to lose one's temper. And he too could play the same games that Carlotta played on Piangi.

"My sweet, I am only interested in knowing what all is going on in my theater," he crooned, putting on his most charming smile and slowly walking towards her. He hoped the passion that filled his eyes would weaken her, not to mention the obvious erection hidden beneath his trousers.

However, the Vicomte realized it would take more coaxing, as Carlotta was having none of it. "I am not a fool, Raoul!" she snapped, using his first name. "You think I know nothing about your infamous reputation? You think I know nothing about the many chorus girls and ballet dancers you've bedded? You think I don't know that one of the main reasons you patronize the Opera House is so you can be assured of a pretty young face, with a mouth wide and open and willing-"

"That was BEFORE I met you!" Raoul lied, coming to her in two strides. "I will not deny my past, but the moment I saw you perform on stage in Venice and heard your voice, you alone are the only woman I think about, dream about…" his hand sneaked down to the hem of her skirts and began to lift them once again. "…and want to fuck till the sun comes up…"

Carlotta melted slightly to his words, especially as she felt his hand move under the skirts and softly brush the skin of her thigh. Still, she tried to show some self-control. "W-w-why then do you care about w-who she is…" she whimpered, her lips going dry as she felt his fingers inch closer to the pulsing heat between her thighs.

Raoul grinned as he could tell he was winning this battle. "My dear, did you not say that the girl was incompetent?" His lips brushed against hers as his fingers traced the outline of her nether lips encased by the silken undergarmets she wore.

Carlotta moaned and melted even more, licking her lips and trembling beneath his touch. "T-t-that is true…"

He grinned and slowly slid the flimsy material aside and let one of his fingers explore the damp heat. "Yes, it is…and you're not happy…" he whispered against her cheek, another finger joining the first in its exploration. Carlotta was gripping the dressing table and writhing against his body. "I only want to make you happy Carlotta…I only want to give you pleasure…" his fingers were softly thrusting in and out of her and he could see from the expression on her face that she would tell him anything so long as he didn't stop. "Her name, Carlotta…" he huskily whispered, while one finger circled her clitoris. "Tell me her name…"

She couldn't take it anymore, she needed release, and she needed his body buried deep inside her own. "C-c-c-christine D-d-daae…oooOOooOOoohhhh CHRISTINE DAAE!" she shouted, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately, while he lifted her body with one arm, and the other cleared the dressing table before placing her down on top of it. He threw her skirts up over her waist, pushed his trousers down and released his throbbing cock, and then in a flash of lightning, buried himself in her hot wetness.

"Thank…you…my…dear…" he groaned between thrusts, laughing inwardly at how easy it truly was to get a woman to reveal or do anything with a little "coaxing". She cried out words in Italian, and gripped him even tighter while he continued to thrust. "You…will…not…regret…it!"

Nor would he, he mused to himself. Already, he was imagining the pretty costume girl as the one before him, as the one he was so eagerly fucking, instead of this dried up singer who was clinging to what little youth and beauty she once had. But as he had learned, from the time his father had taken him to a brothel at the age of 14 to "make a man out of him", any woman could be easily bought at the right price. Sometimes it took money, sometimes jewels or other expensive gifts, sometimes even words of affection and love; but every woman had a price, and it only took the Vicomte de Chagny little time to learn what it was, before luring a woman to his bed. Carlotta definitely suited his purposes; he knew she was once a star in Italy, and with the right publicity, he could make her a star in France and get more money into his pockets. And if that meant having to come every now and then and listen to her litany of complaints before finally moving onto "normal business", as he referred it, then so be it. Whatever it took for him to get what he wanted.

He looked up from the screaming woman, and smiled at his own reflection in the mirror. He continued to look at himself while he thrusted in and out of her body, thinking of all the wealth he was acquiring from her so-called talents, thinking of his next escapade: bedding the costume girl. She looked young, full of country virtue; he loved breaking virgins in. She would be a most eager student, he grinned. Yes, he would soon seduce her to his bed, and gain much pleasure for himself from her. Carlotta was business, but the costume girl would be his pleasure. And he loved mixing the two together. He thought all these things while he smiled at his own reflection, before crying out his own release.

* * *

Madame Giry hurried down the stone steps that led to Erik's lair, her face pale and covered with worry lines. She carefully avoided the passages that she knew were booby trapped, all the while hurrying as fast as she could.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadowy figure. "Where is he?" she called out to it. The figure made a groaning sound before pointing off to the right. She nodded her head in thanks and took the passage the figure had indicated. The sound of music filled the cavern before her, and she knew he would not be pleased to be interrupted while working. "Erik! Erik!" she called out, while she crossed the candlelit cavern.

The organ music stopped, and the caped figure stood, his shoulders slumping slightly before straightening his back. "I'm very busy, what is it?"

She stopped a few feet away from him, panting and clutching her chest while she tried to regain her composure. "H-h-h-he's…h-here…"

Erik turned, his face masked and the visible eyebrow arching in speculation. "The Vicomte de Chagny?" he simply asked.

Madame Giry looked at him with surprise. "Y-y-you know?" she asked, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

Erik waved his hand in a blasé manner. "It's my theater, is it not?" he said, before adding under his breath, "despite what that son of a bitch thinks." He reseated himself at the organ and began to play. "Besides, it was rather hard to ignore the harpy's shrieks…at least in climax the woman can hit a proper note."

Madame Giry was surprised with how cool Erik was behaving. Normally he would fly into rages when he learned that the Vicomte was at the Opera House. Erik despised the Vicomte de Chagny, and she could not blame him. The man wore the mask of a gentleman, when in truth he was more of a monster than Erik ever could be. True, Erik had committed acts of terror and murder, but the Vicomte…his crimes were so much more heinous to the ballet mistress, especially since she knew that he was responsible for impregnating three of her dancers over the past five years. One girl died when seeking crude means to have an abortion, while the other two were thrown out onto the street with no where to go and no money. Madame Giry had no idea what happened to them, and she cursed the Vicomte for ruining all three lives.

She also knew the many reasons Erik despised the Vicomte…so why was he acting so nonchalant? "You…you do not care then?" she asked, not daring to come around and face him, but unsure what else to do or say.

The Phantom ceased his playing momentarily and sighed heavily. "Oh, I care very much indeed," he growled under his breath, before his fingers violently banged against the organ keys, causing the cavern walls to shake.

Erik's reasoning for despising the Vicomte was somewhat different. Like the current managers, the Vicomte cared very little for art and music, and more for the money that rolled into the Opera House. While the Vicomte was a patron, he also had stock in the Opera House, and 10 of the profits from every performance went straight into his pocket. The Vicomte was also the one responsible for placing Carlotta at the Opera House, a sin that Erik would never forgive the man for. Yet the crime that Erik held over the Vicomte more than any other was what he did to Marie Carrier, a dancer Erik fancied himself in love with when he was much younger.

Erik was only 19 when he saw the girl on stage for the first time. She was beautiful, with long golden hair, a porcelain complexion, and large soft brown eyes. He sent her love poems and flowers, thinking she would find it romantic that she had a secret admirer at the Opera. However, his love sick dreams were dashed when the Vicomte de Chagny, a boy of 16 at that time, easily seduced the star-struck girl, making her believe he was the one who had sent her the flowers and poems!

Erik wanted to interfere, but feared if he revealed himself a mob would discover his whereabouts and force him back to the life he had not long escaped. So he waited, and plotted how he would make the young Vicomte pay. Marie, the foolish girl, believed that young Raoul truly loved her, and that the two were going to run away to get married. She abandoned her dreams of performing for the scoundrel, disappearing early one cold November morning, never to be seen again. It wasn't until after the death of Raoul's father, that the Vicomte returned to the Opera House, some three years later. No one knew what had become of Marie, and the Vicomte did not seem upset at all.

The man was a snake; Erik saw how he strode about the theater as if he owned it, giving musicians advice, telling the managers how to run the business, and bedding chorus girls and dancers along the way. The time would come when he would have his revenge for all the atrocities the Vicomte had put him through.

But revenge was a dish best served cold…and simply killing the man was too polite. No, Erik would have his revenge when the time was right, and it would be a long, agonizing revenge, one full of screaming and begging. This little joy made him smile, and he easily regained his cool demeanor, despite his random outbursts of rage.

It was this show of emotion that Madame Giry feared most. She could not think of what else to say, and he seemed so engrossed with his music that she turned and began to walk away. Yet before she left, he called out to her. "I've seen the violinist's daughter," he said causally.

Madame Giry paused and slowly turned back. "And…?"

"She is very pretty, you did not tell me that," he said with a simple wave of his hand, before turning the page of the score before him. "And she appears to be a hard worker, her care for costumes is impressive," he added. "But what I admire about her most…is the way she refused to give Carlotta the satisfaction of 'thanking her' for the opportunity to work under her," he chuckled.

Madame Giry gave a small smile, but sighed sadly. "I fear Carlotta will make her life a living hell."

"Carlotta makes everyone's life a living hell," Erik grumbled. "At least she had the courage to stand up to the harpy, despite the so-called accident the bitch did to her."

Madame Giry's brow furrowed with confusion. "Accident?"

"It doesn't matter," Erik replied casually, turning the page of the score. "The violinist plays very well too, they both can stay so long as they continue to obey the rules." Madame Giry nodded her head and turned to leave, but Erik called out to her one last time. "I have a note for you to deliver. Suzette has it, see her before you leave." Madame Giry nodded her head again, finally leaving to retrieve the letter Erik had written.

He listened to her distancing footsteps while he continued to play the sweet cords of music written before him. He noticed out of the corner of his eye a hunched figure approaching. "I'm busy Rudolph, you know I do not wish to be disturbed while working," he said icily.

The hunched figure remained in the shadows, but nodded its large head. "F-f-forgive me, master," he slowly replied, his words stuttering slightly. "I just…c-c-couldn't help overhearing…t-t-that you were t-talking…about the c-c-c-costume girl…"

Erik nodded his head, not lifting his gaze from the music. "Yes, and what of it?"

The figure shuffled his feet a little before finally responding. "I like her…she s-seems d-d-different…nice…like the g-gypsy girl…"

Erik paused and looked at the hunched figure. "Gypsy girl?"

Rudolph nodded his large head. "Yes…f-from the s-s-stories…that Suzette t-tells us…like the one w-with the hunchback…in the c-c-cathedral…"

Erik rolled his eyes and groaned and quickly resumed his playing. "There is no such person, Rudolph, it was story, simple as that."

The hunched figure shifted his feet nervously again, his voice barely above a whisper. "B-b-but S-s-suzette says…"

Erik's fists came crashing down on the organ. "THERE IS NO SUCH PERSON!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the cavern and passageways. Rudolph gave a cry of fear and quickly backed away, molding his large frame to the stone wall, as if hoping the shadow would keep him safe. Erik sighed and took several long breaths before lifting his head and speaking again, his tone icy, but calm. "There is no gypsy girl Rudolph, there is no woman on earth like that…" he sighed one last time before finally lifting his eyes to where the hunched figure stood shaking. "Beautiful women do not fall in love with monsters like us, that is the reality of it, and it's better than you learn this now, before…before you do something foolish and risk hurting yourself."

Rudolph nodded his head as if he understood, although he made a strangled sobbing sound before retreating down the passageway, his sobs filling the caverns all around. Erik sighed and cradled his head in his hands. Damn that girl, somehow she was to blame for this. He recalled the crude scene of the Vicomte and Carlotta, together in her dressing room. He followed her angry shrieks to see if his suspicions were correct, and yes, there was the Vicomte, attempting to win her affections with seductive lies. While Erik was a spy, he was not a voyeur, and had no interest in watching the two people he despised most become like wild animals with one another. But before he turned to leave the disgusting sight, he heard the Vicomte ask for the name of the new costume girl. Carlotta finally conceded, telling him what he wanted to hear, and was thus rewarded with what he had come to the Opera House for all along.

Erik hated the man, but normally did nothing to stop his seductions and rendezvous with the ladies of the Opera House. If they were more concerned with what the Vicomte thought of them, they were not fit to be a part of his theater. However, Erik felt a strange urge within his being to protect the violinist's daughter from the hands of the handsome monster. He wasn't entirely sure why, as he didn't entirely feel this way for Marie. But he felt compelled to keep a close watch on the girl, to make sure that her virtue, if she had any, wasn't turned into a plaything for the Vicomte.

Yet now her supposed sweet nature was having an affect on Rudolph, and he did not need those that he took care of to be filled with such foolish notions, like love and romance. Love got him nothing, and he knew that if he had revealed himself to Marie long ago, she would have rebuked him the second she saw his face. Indeed, love was not meant for creatures like himself.

The thought filled Erik with such rage that he pounded his fingers on the organ keys till blood flowed in time with the music.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vicomte de Chagny is handsome and charming; a girl should be flattered to have his attention! So why does Christine seem uneasy whenever he is near?

_**Revelations** _

The few days that followed the Daae's first day of work at the Paris Opera House went by in a blur. The countdown to the opening gala of the opera season was well underway. Every night, before going to bed, Christine's father would play several movements from the opening opera for a minimum of two hours. While he played, Christine would sit and hum along to the tune as she worked meticulously on repairing snared costumes for Carlotta. She discovered that if she imagined herself in Carlotta's place, she could repair the costumes with greater care, as opposed to wanting to make the snares worse.

Christine's father was not blind; he noticed his daughter's great distaste for the star soprano. He often mentioned how he could speak with the managers, try to make things better, and when he learned about the burn on her arm, he threatened to tell the woman what he really thought of her and quit the orchestra! It took a good hour for Christine to calm her father down and convince him that if he left now, they would surely become beggars in the street. And this city, like most, was not kind to beggars.

So the two would pass their evenings engrossed in their work, hoping that may bring some cheer to their situation. Her father would now and then plead for Christine to sing Carlotta's parts, which she refused on the first few occasions, but now, she could not help herself, she loved the role and the songs! One night, while her father played a movement, Christine sprang to her feet and began to twirl around the room, singing the song with all her heart, and acting the part of the character. Her father laughed at how his daughter would "ham" up the part, sometimes mimicking the awful acting skills of Carlotta, and then he would clap and beg for more. Christine blushed, but smiled, knowing that no matter what happened, whether she would ever have a chance to perform, her father always made her feel like a star.

It were these moments when it was just the two of them that Christine cherished and looked forward to at the waking of each day. Indeed, while she was grateful for work, she was not always so eager to return to the Opera House every day.

Before her first day of work was over, Christine's ears had been flooded with countless tales of the mysterious Opera Ghost, otherwise known as the Phantom of the Opera. She heard them first by a few stage hands, grumbling over who would go fetch various props that were being kept below stage. They all complained about the Phantom and how they feared his wrath would bring an end to someone's life…again. Meg Giry and the other ballet girls also had tales. They had been passed on by Joseph Bouquet, the recently fired stage hand who seemed to be the Opera's chief storyteller. It was through these girls that Christine learned about the Phantom being a large frightening black-caped figure that wore a mask and committed numerous acts of foul play.

While she had a somewhat wild imagination, Christine attempted to not let her gothic romantic sensibilities run ramped, and think realistically. After all, the man in charge of these fabrications was a drunkard, how dependent of a source could he be? However, it was harder for her to think this way after her father told her the wild rumor which other members of the orchestra were whispering; that Monsieur Robert had been kidnapped by the infamous Phantom and most likely would never return…alive. Even the managers themselves seemed somewhat under the spell of this mysterious opera ghost.

Now Christine understood the eerie sensations the Opera House made her feel. Yet no Phantom, be he a myth or a man, compared to the other, and slightly more eerie, uneasiness she felt at the Opera.

Not a day went by when she did not arrive for work to find the Vicomte de Chagny waiting near the room where the costumes were kept. He was always polite and charming, bowing to her, smiling at her, filling her ears with compliments about how lovely she looked, and inquiring after her health and that of her father's. In return, Christine would give a small curtsy, a small smile, thank the Vicomte for his kind words, and answer his questions with short replies. But she never fawned over him the way the ballet girls did when they saw him, and she never attempted to make the conversation more than what it was. After their ritual greeting, she would get straight to work and ignore his presence…if she could.

Yes, it seemed that everyone, save for Madame Giry and Ubaldo Piangi, were taken by the Vicomte's charm and handsome smile. The managers fell over themselves to please him, Carlotta constantly flirted with the man, and the girls of the ballet were in a constant state of giggles whenever he was present. He had even managed to charm her dearly beloved father.

One evening, Christine's father asked her about the Vicomte. "He's a very handsome man, polite, charming, quite the gentleman. And he does seem to be taken with you, my dear," he said with a smile.

"Papa, he is simply being polite, I'm sure, tis nothing more," she grumbled over her needlework.

Yet her father would not hear it. He was a romantic, and because her mother came from a rich family, he did not see it as so inconceivable for a wealthy man to fall in love with a girl of little fortune, like her. Christine knew her father meant well, but he made her feel like a charity project.

Truth be told, Christine never found herself looking forward to seeing the Vicomte day in and day out. For the first two mornings, he simply greeted her as a gentleman would greet a lady on the street. Afterwards, he would eventually disappear and she would not see him again till the next day. But on the third occasion, he would not leave so easily. He would come and look over her shoulder at the work she was doing, complimenting her on her skills, filling her ears with more false flattery. Such praise made Christine uneasy, for it was not praise being purely given, but praise that seemed to hold a ransom, as if now she owed him a compliment…or more, in return.

He would stay and loom over her till she made up an excuse that she had to go and find Carlotta to see what she thought. That would normally get him to leave, and Christine would then retreat somewhere private to get her work done. However, one day he would not leave; he remained and continued to loom, speaking pleasantly to her, but Christine found herself growing more and more uneasy. She could feel his eyes upon her, and it made her feel violated, as if he were stripping away her gown and undergarments and exposing her with his eyes alone. She shivered, and he took this to mean she was cold. She jumped when she felt him wrapping his coat about her shoulders, and his fingers lingered somewhat too long.

Her fingers were being clumsy, tripping over themselves while she attempted to sew, due to the nervousness and discomfort she felt in this man's presence. And her theory was correct that the man was filling her with false compliments when he continued to flatter her after a very obvious stitching error.

She was working on a very elegant gown, made entirely out of white lace, when his presence alarmed her and she accidentally pricked her finger. She gasped when the blood hit the fine fabric, knowing she would never hear the end of it from Carlotta once the stain was discovered. It was a great pity, as she too loved this gown above all the other costumes. The Vicomte, confusing her distress for the gown with her distress over her pricked finger, cried out her name, before grasping her tiny hand in his.

"My dear, you've hurt yourself!"

"It's nothing," Christine insisted, plastering a polite smile on her face, while at the same time attempting to wriggle her hand free from his iron grip.

"Nonsense, it could become infected! Come, let me help you."

"Monsieur, that is not necessarily, I-"

"I will not hear it, mademoiselle, come…I insist, I have just the thing that will help…" he was literally dragging her from her seat and out of the room. Christine continued to try and free herself, but it seemed to be no use, the man was quite strong and it hurt the way he gripped her hand. "Ah, here we are," he said with a smile, leading her to a lounge just beyond the stairway that led to the private boxes which overlooked the stage.

Christine had hoped that he would at last release her, but instead he more or less pushed her down onto a chaise longue, while his other hand reached for a bottle of wine which emerged from a small sack next to it. He smiled and opened the wine before dabbing a small amount onto a handkerchief and using it to dab her finger.

"Monsieur, that is not necessarily," Christine protested. "As you can see, the blood has stopped and the wound is already closing-"

"Nonsense, one can never be too careful," he said in a patronizing tone, as if she were a small child who didn't know any better. "There, doesn't that feel better?" he asked, his fingers still gripping hers rather possessively, while he warmly smiled at her. Despite that warmth, Christine felt anything but better.

"Indeed monsieur, you are right, this has done me some good," she quickly reasoned, offering a small polite smile before quickly rising to her feet. "Thank you very much, now if you will excuse me-"

"Now just wait a moment," he said with a chuckle, while his hand reached out and grasped her wrist, before pulling her back down beside him. "Not so fast my dear. Why the hurry?" he asked, before lounging back.

Christine gave a small smile, but anyone could tell it was forced. "Tomorrow is the opening gala and I still have a great deal of work, it must get done-"

Raoul waved her worry off with his hand, like a man waving away a pesky fly. "All in good time mademoiselle, all in good time, but first…let us celebrate," he said with a smile, before reaching into that small sack the wine had emerged from, and pulled out two glasses.

He had planned this. Why else would a gentleman of his leisure have brought wine and two glasses and then secretly hide them in…most likely his own private lounge?

She had to keep a cool head despite all this. "I do not understand what we have to celebrate, monsieur," she said curtly.

"Please, you may call me Raoul," he said while pouring the wine, as if he were granting her a large favor. "And we have a great many things to celebrate! Why, the opening gala, your triumphs in costuming-"

"Monsieur-"

"Raoul."

"MONSIEUR," she said with a little more force than she had planned, but knew it was necessary to get this man to understand. "Thank you, but no thank you…there will be no cause to celebrate anything if I do not get my work done." With that, she rose quickly to her feet and began to exit the lounge.

"I beg your pardon Christine, but I thought you to be above such rude behavior."

She paused, his words intentionally made to prick her. She slowly turned her head, one eyebrow lifted. "Excuse me?"

He was grinning. "After all that I have done, you leave like this…I must say, it simply seems…ungrateful, if you ask me."

She couldn't believe she was hearing this. "Ungrateful?"

He nodded his head, lounging further back onto the chaise longue, his arms stretching out along its rim. There was this smirk on his face that Christine wanted to slap off. How dare he say such things to her! And how dare he presume that he could address her by her first name! They were not intimate friends or equals; how dare he use the power of his title to assume authority over her! Hot anger was boiling in her veins; his conceitedness was, heaven forbid, worse than Carlotta's! "Monsieur," she said through clipped lips. "I do not believe I have ever been so gravely insulted in all my life. I must return at once."

Raoul stared at her retreating figure, the smirk he had worn completely gone. Did that just happen? No woman had EVER refused him! He leapt to his feet and in a matter of strides had his hand on her shoulder and was turning her rapidly around to face him. "Insulted?" he quickly calmed his tone and forced a smile. "I am sorry my dear, I was only trying to make a joke, I did not mean-"

Christine was able to shrug his hands off her shoulders and twirl away, stomping back to the costume room. Raoul stared at her, his mouth wide open. She had spurned him! She had turned away before he had even finished what he had to say…and spurned him! That ungrateful, spoiled, little-

"Monsieur Vicomte?"

Raoul groaned at the sight of the ballet mistress who appeared from nowhere. Christine was getting away before he even had the opportunity to turn the girl around and give her a good harsh shake for insulting him. He watched as she walked further and further away, vowing then and now that he would have the girl, one way or another, but he WOULD have her.

"Monsieur?"

He forced a smile and focused his attention on the matron standing before him. "Madame Giry…how wonderful to see you again."

The woman did not smile at him, only icily handed him a note. "This arrived for you monsieur…I suggest you read it at once." With that, the woman turned away and stalked back to the shadows from which she came.

Although Christine was a good distance ahead of the Vicomte, she overheard Madame Giry's words about the note. She recalled how Meg Giry had told her that the Phantom only communicated through notes, and while she was still trying to convince herself that the whole notion of the Phantom of the Opera was ridiculous, she found herself pausing after she turned a corner.

She overheard the Vicomte mumble some of the words, before cursing and crumbling the note in his hand. He threw it on the ground and stomped off in a different direction. Christine waited till the sounds of his footsteps were far off before emerging from her hiding place. She quickly dashed to where he had been standing and picked the crumbled note up off the ground. She smoothed the paper out as best she could, and began to read.

_To the Vicomte de Chagny,_

_Monsieur, I do advise you not to harass the people of my theater. As your interests in opera are extremely limited, I suggest you leave all matters of staff to me…and keep what little understanding you have of the opera business to strictly fucking the prima donna-_

Christine gasped at the words and found herself blushing deeply. Was…was it true? She recalled how Carlotta always seemed to throw herself at him…and the mysterious engagements the two of them had while in her dressing room…

She shook her head, not truly wanting to dwell on such things, and continued to read.

_-and prancing about like a plumed peacock. Good day. I remain, —O.G._

Christine stared at the initials on the letter for a long time. O.G.–opera ghost. Were the stories true? Was it possible that the Phantom wasn't a myth? But ghosts couldn't write notes…at least none of the ghosts in Christine's novels could. But maybe he truly was a man…a mad man, living somewhere within this theater, watching all that went on, watching…watching her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and slowly rose to her feet. Earlier, when she believed the stories to be simply stories, she found the idea slightly romantic, while eerie as well. Yet now Christine felt a cold shiver run down her body, and she found herself moving very quickly back to where she had left her work.

"Wait…" she paused. "Madame Giry was the one who delivered the note…she must have written it!" Yes! It made sense; Christine could tell Madame Giry had a cold dislike for the Vicomte. She must have written the letter, and then initialed it as such to frighten him-or at least upset him-either way it got him to leave.

That was what it was, a letter in the guise of the Phantom's threat. She felt calmer at the thought, yet there was a tiny piece of her that also regretted the reality of it; while the stories she had heard about the Phantom sounded frightening, the idea of a mysterious shadow-clad knight coming to her rescue was very romantic.

"Christine Daae, you really must control your sensibilities!" she scolded herself before hurrying back to the costume room.

* * *

Erik smiled from his hidden rooftop view as he watched an angry Vicomte de Chagny exit the building. The Vicomte slammed his hat on top of his shimmering golden mane and stalked toward his carriage. The driver leapt to his feet and opened the door, grimacing when he saw the nobleman's expression.

"H-h-h-how did it go?" he softly asked as he held the door open for his master.

Raoul paused and slowly, like a snake stalking its prey, turned his head towards the driver. The man gulped and began to tremble. Raoul leaned in, his face mere inches from the driver's. "I will have that girl…and I will see her writhing and squirming beneath me, filling my ears with the sound of my name!" Raoul climbed into the carriage, and slammed the door shut behind him, catching the driver's fingers, who was yowling in pain.

"Stop your sniveling and get us out of here!" the Vicomte ordered, settling back into his carriage and glaring at the Opera House that stood before him. "Make no mistake about it," he muttered to himself. "I will have her."

Erik watched with amusement as the carriage pulled away, the driver still whimpering in pain. He couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation. The sight of the handsome Vicomte de Chagny being snubbed by a pretty girl was extremely comical to Erik. He leaned against the stone gargoyle he was hiding behind and laughed for a good long time, not caring if anyone heard him; it would only convince others further of the legends of the infamous Opera Ghost.

Indeed, the Opera hadn't been this entertaining since…well, since before Carlotta first placed her overgrown foot on the stage. The costume girl was truly fascinating; she was so unlike the others. Despite the Vicomte's compliments and good looks, she saw past the whole façade and would have none of his bullying. She was intelligent and courageous, outwitting the Vicomte and standing up to Carlotta; indeed, he liked this girl very much.

His smile faded at that thought. True, the girl was different compared to the squealing trollops of the ballet, but she was still a pretty face that would scream at the sight of him should he reveal himself. His lips twisted in disgust as he thought about how often he would come to see her while she worked. He supposed the whole ordeal began when the Vicomte wouldn't leave her alone. He found himself pitying the girl, something he rarely did, and today, when he realized that the son of a bitch was interfering with the young lady's concentration to the point where she was causing injury to herself, he had to intervene.

Erik felt a grin return to his lips as he recalled the Vicomte's displeasure at the note he ordered Madame Giry to deliver. The Vicomte de Chagny did not believe in the Phantom, he was far too "rational" for such things. However, Erik knew how greatly upsetting it was for the man to receive such reminders of the Phantom's existence. His grin grew wider as he thought that one day soon, Raoul would not be able to deny his very real presence.

The bells of Notre Dame sounded the hour, reminding Erik of the vast amount of work that still needed to be done before the opening gala tomorrow. "Faust" would be the first opera of the season; thank God the managers followed some of his instructions. Indeed, there were still a great many things to be done. If only he could find a soprano to replace the harpy.

* * *

That night, Christine barely slept a wink. Her dreams were plagued with a dark figure, cloaked in shadows, calling out her name in a haunting voice, while sweet chilling music played in the distance. She could not see his face, yet she went to him, his voice beckoning to her like a siren's. She tried to touch him, but he would move away. However, she felt his hands upon her; they were large, rough, a workman's hands, yet they were also gentle, touching her as if she were a finely tuned instrument waiting to be played for the first time.

Every dream was the same: haunting, chilling, erotic. And when she awoke, she was covered in sweat and her body was throbbing for the touch of her ghost. These thoughts and feelings frightened her, for she had a funny feeling she knew very well who the man was in her dreams.

The sun came all too early. Christine groaned when her father came to rouse her out of bed. "Come, we have much to do today…for tonight is the opening gala of the opera season!"

With much reluctance, Christine forced herself out of bed and hurried off with her father to the busy Opera House. The place was a scene of chaos. While the gala would not begin till seven, there was a frantic state to get everything in order. The managers were running here and there, trying to please Carlotta and be sure everything was prepared on stage. Madame Giry worked meticulously with the ballet, telling the girls that only perfection would satisfy her. The orchestra rehearsed the entire opera, complete with chorus and one star. Piangi sang, but Carlotta believed herself to be well beyond ready, and chose to spend the day pampering herself. Meanwhile, Christine carefully added the final touches to Carlotta's costumes and gently laid them out for the over-confident star to change into.

Throughout the day, Christine kept hearing talk about mysterious notes. Dancers and stage hands gossiped about the letters that were mysteriously arriving by the hour to the managers, demanding perfection for the evening. Christine couldn't help but grin when she heard two ballet girls giggling that one letter demanded for Carlotta's understudy to perform instead.

Yet Christine found herself even more confused than before. She spent so much energy the previous day trying to convince herself that the letter Madame Giry had delivered to the Vicomte de Chagny was penned by the cold ballet mistress herself. However, there was that small annoying voice in the back of her head that kept telling her it was him, the mysterious Phantom. Now, with talk over all these notes, she found that voice growing louder and louder.

The day went by in a whirl. Before anyone knew it, night had fallen over the Opera House, and slowly, dressed in their elegant silks, linens, and furs, the crème de la crème of Paris society arrived in dazzling carriages. Christine managed to sneak away for a few minutes and watch from a balcony overlooking the grand foyer, the arrival of the toast of society. Her eyes quickly scanned the crowded scene before her and saw no sign of the handsome Vicomte. She thought it odd that a man who patronized the Opera as well as he, would not come to a performance, especially the opening opera of the season. However, she remembered how upset he appeared to be after reading the infamous note. Perhaps it was her words; perhaps she was able to sting him with the truth and he was unable to remove her stinger. She couldn't help but grin a little at that thought.

Meanwhile, Christine's father was back stage tuning his instrument, trying to desperately calm his nerves. He hadn't played before an audience in what felt like centuries, and at last his opportunity had come. He needed to calm down; his fingers were shaking so violently he was afraid he wouldn't be able to properly play! What he truly needed was some fresh air, or at the very least, a brief walk away from the auditorium. While patrons were not yet being seated, he could hear them in the foyer and in their private lounges, clinking glasses of champagne and laughing gaily amongst themselves. Yes, he needed to walk away and mentally prepare himself for this wonderful, yet slightly terrifying opportunity.

"I ain't goin' down there!" muttered a gruff looking stage hand. Daae turned his head to see a group of strong unshaven stage hands argue over who needed to fetch a prop for the opera.

"Well I ain't doin it!" another said just as fiercely. "Joseph always warned us that if you went down there without permission, you would never return alive! Remember Gaston? Has anyone seen him since he disappeared below stage a year ago?"

"Well someone has to go down there!" another added. "Firmin says they need that piece, that it's vital for the opera-"

"Hang Firmin and the whole lot of them! They don't understand the things we risk and put up with here. He wants it so bad? Let him get it!"

Daae cleared his throat, and the small group of men slowly turned towards him. Their eyes went wide at the sight of this little elderly man who was asking for their attention. "I beg your pardon gentlemen, but…I do not understand why there is this fear of simply going below stage to retrieve a simple prop?"

The men looked at one another, then back at the old man, then at one another again, as if to understand they heard him right. "Don't understand?" one of them asked. "Don't you know about…about…you know, the ghost?"

Daae made a sound with his lips that signified disbelief. "Oh come now, I would not think that men like you would believe in such ghost stories?"

"They be true stories!" one of the stage hands argued most gruffly. "I've seen him! He lurks in the shadows, and I was lucky to get away with me life! He had his Punjab lasso with him, and he was going to put it around my neck, when I-"

"When did this happen to you?" one of the men asked looking extremely skeptical.

The other who had been telling story became flustered at the question. "W-why…surely you remember, that day…a few months ago, when I didn't come to work? I was sure I told you…"

"I remember that day you didn't show up for work, because you were as drunk as a sewer rat! That's one of Joseph's stories about the Phantom, you lying-"

"GENTLEMEN!"

All the stage hands turned to look at the old man again, surprised that he had such a voice within old and frail body. Daae straightened his shoulders, knowing that anyone of these men could squash him like a bug if they wished. Yet he could not believe that such childish stories had this gruff looking lot shaking in their boots. "If none of you are willing to fetch whatever prop this is–what is the prop?"

"A spinning wheel," one of them muttered. "It's been in storage for years, but apparently Carlotta's character needs it."

Daae nodded his head. "Very well, since none of you will venture below stage to retrieve this spinning wheel…" he sighed heavily, as he did when he was handling Christine's fears when she was a small child, "then I will go and fetch it."

The stage hands stared blankly at Daae, as if they weren't quite sure if they heard him correctly. Then, all at once, the whole lot burst into hysterical laughter. "Y-y-you!" one of them said between chuckles. "You old man…are going to go below stage…into the Phantom's domain?" They all burst into laughter again.

Daae grunted, straightening his shoulders even more and glaring at the buffoons before him. "Yes!" he said with determination, lifting his chin proudly. "I will! I, a violinist, will do the job of a stage hand, the job of men who are too afraid of the dark!"

They all kept laughing. "You w-w-would be afraid too, if you k-k-knew w-w-what was down t-there!"

Daae shook his head and turned on his heel. "Which way do I go?" he asked, looking for a door that would lead him away. The men's laughter rose to new levels at this question.

Daae despised being laughed at, especially by people who looked at him and thought him inferior. His beloved wife's family, God rest her soul, were no different. Even when he announced to his own family that he was going to become a renowned violinist and play all across Europe, he was met with laughter. Only Christine, his beloved child, believed in his dreams. And she knew that when he was determined, he could be most foolish, due to his stubborn pride.

So naturally, when these men continued to laugh at him over and over again, he felt his pride rising along with his stubbornness, and knew that he had to fetch this silly spinning wheel to prove that he, a little old man, was not afraid of any figment. So he set off, spying a door that he was sure led below stage, marched over to it, and turned one last time to look at his laughing companions.

It was slowly beginning to die down, as they looked at him before he descended the darkened steps beyond the door. "I'll return soon with your precious prop," Daae snapped, before taking a deep breath and stepping through the dark passageway.

No one was laughing now. For deep within their hearts, the stage hands knew, especially after they exchanged worried glances amongst themselves, that the old man had descended to his death.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daae descends into the darkness beneath the opera house and makes both a surprising...and terrifying discovery.

_**Darkness** _

It was dark below stage. Darker than the velvet black curtains that hid the back stage world. Daae was slowly beginning to regret his decision to fetch this silly spinning wheel that no one until now had thought to retrieve. After all, it wasn't his job, he should have made one of those stage hands come with him. But a man's pride could also be the bane of his existence, and Daae knew that he had let his foolish stubborn pride bring him to this dark netherworld. If Christine knew what he was doing and why…oh he would never hear the end of it.

"I should have brought a light," Daae muttered, his hands reaching out to touch…anything really. "So this is what it's like to be blind…" he whispered to himself, not liking it one bit. He continued a few more steps before sighing and stopping himself. This was foolish, damn foolish, and he had a job to do as a violinist. Wasting his time below stage seeking something that he couldn't even see, let alone having no clue where to find the spinning wheel, was a horrible idea. Best that he turn around and head back–

"Ow!" Daae stumbled backwards after hitting the hard surface. Did he just walk into a wall? But…how could that be? He had just come from that direction, all he had done was turn around…

"Strange," he muttered, rubbing his forehead and attempting to side step the wall or hard object he had hit. The problem was…there was no where to side step. "How?" He kept trying to go around the wall, but it was as if the wall just kept on going! "What's going on?" he asked, his voice rising with panic as he attempted to move again, but kept coming in contact with a hard unseen barrier.

Daae turned a different direction, hoping somehow he could find his way back…but it too was blocked off. "What the devil…?" he was completely stunned. He knew there wasn't a wall there before, but somehow…it had appeared! It was like…he was slowly being boxed in…

"HELLO?" he cried. "CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?"

Silence.

"HELLO? I NEED HELP! I'M TRAPPED DOWN HERE-"

Footsteps. He heard footsteps slowly approaching. "Oh thank God," he muttered, his hand patting his chest gently to ease his heart. "Hello? I'm afraid I'm stuck, can you-"

The footsteps paused. Daae listened closely, but not a sound was being made. "Hello?" Faintly at first, but growing ever so slowly, was the sound of heavy breathing. Daae swallowed a rather large lump in his throat, his hand trembling as it patted his chest. "H-h-hello?"

The breathing continued, and it was different now. It was as if there were several people breathing. And it seemed to be coming from all around him. Daae attempted to remain calm, but found it extremely difficult. "N-n-now s-s-see here…" he said while mustering up some courage. "If you're n-n-not going to help me…t-t-then you best leave…"

There was a long silence…until a voice, low, gruff, and deep, muttered, "You shouldn't be down here…"

Daae gasped and found himself backing up against the mysterious wall. "W-w-who are you?" he demanded.

"You're a trespasser," the gruff voice accused. "We don't like trespassers…"

Daae clutched his heart. "W-w-w-we?"

"L-l-l-leave h-h-him alone, J-j-jacque!"

"Stay out of this Rudolph! You know the Master's rules about trespassers! Or do you want to return to the carnival?"

The other voice began wailing in fear. Daae couldn't see a thing, but he was flattening himself as much as he could against the wall.

"There was no need for that, Jacque," a new voice warned. This voice was also gruff, yet not nearly as frightening as the last. The new voice then began to speak tenderly to the wailing figure.

"Don't lecture me, Gustave! I'll speak to him as I please! Besides, he's always like this whenever someone-"

"He's a child, Jacque! Or very much like one…he doesn't understand."

Daae heard a scoffing sound, and assumed it came from the voice named "Jacque". "He should know better! And if he thinks I'm frightening, wait till the Master discovers he allowed a trespasser to go-"

The wailing grew ever louder. Through the wailing, Daae could hear both comforting and swearing. He felt along the wall, hoping to find something that would set him free from this dark frightening prison, but it was all in vain.

"All of you, stop this at once!" A new voice emerged, calm, older, and…female?

"Suzette-"

"No Jacque, you listen to me…" she icily snapped. "I'm tired of all this bloodshed; I'm tired of this whole mess. What is this man's crime?"

There was a gasping sound, almost as if someone was shocked by the mere question. "What has he done? He's trespassing! You know the Master's rules!"

Before Daae knew what was happening, he found himself speaking to the darkness. "I…I d-d-didn't mean to trespass. I swear, I came down to find a prop for tonight's opera. A spinning wheel…please, I didn't mean to offend."

There was a pause, before the woman's voice spoke again. "Put on your shrouds," she ordered.

"WHAT?" Jacque shouted.

"Put…on…your…shrouds!" she hissed, her words clipped and even.

There was a shuffling sound, as if someone were moving quickly. The sound was interrupted by Jacque's protest. "Am I the only one who cares about what happens to us? Am I the only one who share's the master's feelings on this matter? Have you all so easily forgotten what the carnival was like?"

The wailing began to start again, but the woman's voice quickly silenced both. "Go then Jacque, go and be gone. I will take responsibility."

Daae listened as a pair of footsteps vanished somewhere in the darkness, and the wailing came to a series of sniffles. Without warning, a light flickered, and an oil lamp appeared, illuminating the small space.

The light hurt his eyes, and Daae peered through the shadows, attempting to see who held the light. He gasped when he saw two shrouded creatures before him, one large and bent over, and the other small, like a dwarf. "Come monsieur, we will show you what you are looking for…and a different way out."

Daae was almost too shocked by what had happened and was taking place before him. The small shrouded figure gestured for him to follow. "You can't go back that way monsieur, believe me. And if you wish to escape, you had best follow Rudolph and me."

"I…I…" he was stumbling over his words, trying to find his voice but to no avail. Who were these people? What was going on? And…who was this mysterious "master" they kept referring to?

The smaller shrouded figure gave an exasperated sigh, then came forward and grasped his hand tightly. "Monsieur, you must follow us." The words were clipped, and it suddenly occurred to Daae that the voice of the smaller figure was the woman's voice he had heard earlier. "My name is Suzette, and we shall lead you out of here." He didn't say anything, simply nodded his head and allowed the dwarf to pull him by the hand.

The much larger bent over figure grunted, and began to follow from behind. Daae swallowed the growing lump in his throat, unsure what to think or believe, and wondering if he was truly safe.

As if reading his thoughts, the small woman said, "Have no fear monsieur, Rudolph is quite harmless."

The bent over figure who was following started to laugh at the words, but it was a child's laugh, one full of merriment and excitement. "D-do you know g-g-gypsies?"

Daae was thrown back by the question that Rudolph had asked. "W-w-what?" he asked, still being dragged by the small woman, but attempting to turn and face the bent over man.

"Gypsies! I…I k-know a s-s-story…with a b-beautiful g-g-gypsy girl!" he stammered happily.

Suzette sighed. "Ever since I told Rudolph the story about the hunchback and the gypsy girl, he dreams of meeting gypsies."

Daae nodded his head, but he was at a loss for words. It was as if…as if these people led normal lives and discussed normal things…yet lived below the Opera House!

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something scraping along the hard earthen floor. "W-w-w-what was that?" Daae asked, trying to calm his voice.

"Gustave," Suzette said simply.

It was so matter of fact that Daae felt foolish for asking. "W-w-why can't I s-s-see him?"

Rudolph was quick to answer. "Gustave h-has no legs! He-"

"Rudolph!" Suzette barked. Rudolph instantly shrank back. They continued on, although Daae found himself in deeper confusion with horrific images flying through his mind. A man with no legs? And these two in shrouds? What sort of place was this!

"Here we are!" Suzette announced, after what seemed like a short eternity through twisting tunnels and dark caverns. The shuffling sound that the small woman had identified as "Gustave" moved quickly over head. "You would never have found the spinning wheel without our help I'm afraid," the woman announced. "I've been using it to make clothes," she explained. "I often forget that I must share the props with the actual Opera House," she chuckled, to which Rudolph joined her.

Daae gasped when he saw the spinning wheel being lowered by a rope from overhead. "Ah! Thank you Gustave!" the woman said brightly. "I'm not very good at climbing, but he's wonderful," she quickly explained.

Daae simply nodded his head, the lump in his throat never allowing speech to come through. "Rudolph, I want you to hold this, and mind the spindle," Suzette instructed, handing the large creature the prop Daae had come to find.

"If I'm n-not c-c-careful, I m-may fall asleep for h-h-hundreds of years! J-just like t-the s-story!"

Suzette nodded her shrouded head to Rudolph's words. "Exactly, so be very careful." She then turned back to Daae. "Now monsieur, we shall find you a way out-"

A great gust of cold wind blew through the tunnel, knocking the oil lamp Suzette had been holding out of her hands, the flame disappearing into the shadows. Darkness enveloped the cavern, and Rudolph gave a cry of anguish, before dropping the spinning wheel and rushing past Daae, his large body causing the old man to lose his balance and fall to the ground.

"Master!" Suzette cried. "Please, allow us to explain, this man simply came to retrieve-"

Her words were cut short by a roar of rage. "TRESPASSER!"

Daae gasped at the sound. He had never heard anything like it! It…it barely sounded human!

"You did this Jacque!" accused the voice of Gustave, who was speaking overhead.

Jacque's voice filled the cavern, responding to Gustave's accusation. "He would have learned sooner or later! And you know the rules! See, master? I was against it all along, I warned them, I-"

"SILENCE!"

Both Jacque and Gustave shrank away, and the only sounds Daae could hear were heavy footsteps, and his own heartbeat, ringing loudly in his ears.

He was trembling, clutching his chest again, attempting to back away, yet still the footsteps approached closer, louder, each sound more ominous than the last. He wanted to plead for his life, beg forgiveness, anything that would wake him from this nightmare!

There was a menacing pause, and then, with hot breath hitting his face, Daae heard the most frightening voice that had ever filled his ears. "Who are you..." the voice was a hiss. A hiss that would shame a snake and make the Devil plea for his life. "…and what are you doing here?"

"I…I…I j-j-just w-w-w-wanted…"

"Do you know what I do with trespassers?" the voice asked, in a menacing tone.

"I…I d-d-didn't mean to t-t-t-trespass! I…I j-j-just w-w-wanted…p-please!"

"Master!" Suzette's voice interceded. "He did not know the rules, he is new, I've never seen-"

"I KNOW WHO HE IS!" the dark voice snapped. "And I know that he knows my rules."

Daae had no idea who this person was…but a horrifying feeling was filling him and causing his whole body to convulse and tremble with the cold knowledge. "P-p-please…"

"You know the rules…" the voice hissed. "And yet you disobeyed. You just wanted to come and see the Phantom…didn't you?" the sound of sinister glee rose with each word. Daae attempted to shake his head, but he was scared stiff. A sudden flicker of light illuminated the cavern floor. "Well…I wouldn't want to disappoint…" The light rose off the floor, higher and higher, until Daae's eyes widened with horror at the sight illuminated before him.

Despite the noise of the crowded foyer and auditorium, those that worked back stage jumped at the sound of the old man's screams.

* * *

"I swear! I could KILL that man!" Andre shouted in frustration.

Firmin paled at the words of his colleague, quickly signaling for Andre to lower his voice. "Quiet man! The last thing we need is for Carlotta…or the Vicomte for that matter, to learn that something is amiss!"

Andre threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "How could he do this to us Firmin? After allowing both him and his mouse of a daughter jobs in our theater! How could he do this to us?"

"Calm yourself Andre," Firmin attempted.

Andre however was going to be anything but calm. "What are we going to do? We need that violin! Carlotta sings with a violin solo during Act II! No one else knows that solo but Daae!" Andre began pacing. "It's just like Robert! He's disappeared! He's taken our money and he's left, without a word, without a reason, without-"

Firmin marched up to the man and slapped him hard across the face. "Get a hold of yourself!" he hissed, before glancing to the side to see if anyone saw them. The two managers were back stage after being called by Monsieur Gerard, the orchestra conductor. Gerard filled the mangers' ears with a litany of complaints, all centering around the fact that Daae was nowhere to be seen, no one could find him or knew where he was, and the opera had been delayed for ten minutes!

Carlotta was pacing angrily, wondering what the trouble was, and indeed, out in the auditorium, the patrons were beginning to grow restless. After learning the news, Andre and Firmin found themselves panicking, wondering what should be done-besides firing Daae, once he was found.

Madame Giry had already been sent to fetch Christine Daae, who was hard at work with preparing a frustrated Carlotta. "I'm sure the girl knows what's become of the man," Firmin attempted to reassure his business partner.

Andre was less convinced. "And if not? Then what? We still need to start the opera! These people paid good money! We can't lose that money! This is the first performance of the season! We'll be ruined if-"

Firmin slapped Andre again. "Shut up!" he hissed. The two suddenly realized they were being watched and turned to see a bewildered and somewhat pale Christine Daae standing beside the ballet mistress.

"I was told you wanted to speak with me?" she asked, her voice timid for she feared something was wrong.

Firmin cleared his throat and nodded his head, his eyes holding hers. "When did you last see your father, mademoiselle?"

Christine's already pale face turned even whiter. "My father?" her tone was high and full of worry. Madame Giry placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulders to calm her. Christine looked back and forth between the two managers. "What's happened? Is he alright? What's wrong?"

"Mademoiselle, please remain calm," Firmin whispered, attempting to remain calm himself. "Monsieur Gerard has not seen him since earlier this evening, before any patrons were seated. And…well, as you very well know, we need him to play that violin piece, and no can find him-"

"He's missing?" Christine practically shrieked. Firmin grasped her hands and placed a finger to her lips to silence her.

"Hush! We can not have a scene! We-"

But it was too late. Carlotta, looking more exasperated than ever, waltzed over to the managers with Piangi close behind. "WELL?" she screeched. "What are we waiting for?"

"Senora, please, you must keep your voice down-"

"I WILL DO AS I PLEASE WHEN I PLEASE, AND I WILL SPEAK AS I PLEASE!" she barked. "Now tell me…what is going on?"

Mustering up as much calmness as he could, Andre stepped forward to explain. "It appears Monsieur Daae is missing, and we are-"

"MISSING?" she shrieked. Wincing with pain from the sharpness of her voice, both the managers nodded their heads. Carlotta eyed them coldly, before turning on her heel. "Then fire him! And start the overture!"

"What?" Christine shouted, staring at Carlotta in horror. "You can't fire him! Something is wrong! He would never miss a performance! We must find him! Please! He…oh God above, he could be hurt! Lying somewhere and no one can hear him!" hot tears of fear and worry were streaming down Christine's cheeks.

"Who gives a damn!" Carlotta spat.

Silence filled the small space. Silence…and then the sound of Christine walking up to Carlotta and without warning, throwing her fist directly into the woman's eye. "YOU DESPICABLE UNTALENTED HEARTLESS TOAD!" Christine shouted, her fists wailing at the screaming prima donna who was pleading for Piangi to save her. Everyone was frozen in shock at the scene before them, and it took a blood curdling scream from Carlotta before anyone responded by pulling the angry costume girl off the sobbing soprano.

"Mademoiselle! Control yourself!" Firmin shouted. Madame Giry pulled Christine away from the managers and wrapped her arms around the girl who was trembling and sobbing with anger and worry for her father.

Piangi helped Carlotta up, cooing over her, to which she pushed him away. "That little BITCH better be gone by the time the first act is finished!" she spat. "Ugh! My make-up is ruined! My hair!" she wailed as she stalked off. Firmin and Andre stared at the retreating figure of their beloved star, unsure what to say or do, but any thoughts on that matter were quickly gone when an usher appeared.

"Pardon me, but…the Vicomte is here and is growing impatient and says the opera should start, or he will demand…his money back," the man whispered in horror.

Both managers paled at those words of doom. "Tell Monsieur Gerard to start the overture RIGHT NOW!" Andre ordered.

Firmin turned to the sobbing costume girl who was still being held closely by the ballet mistress. He sighed and locked eyes with the older woman. "Madame Giry, if…you would please escort Mademoiselle Daae out," he whispered. Madame Giry simply returned Firmin's words with a cold stare. The managers turned and left, leaving the two women behind.

"There, there, child, it will be alright…" the ballet mistress soothed.

Christine pushed away from the woman. "Alright? I…I just punched Carlotta! I've lost my job! My father is missing! And…and I just cost him his opportunity at achieving his dream!"

Madame Giry knew that no amount of reassuring words would help Christine. She sighed and found herself glaring into the shadows. She knew Erik was to blame for the man's disappearance, she only prayed that the Phantom showed some small amount of compassion and had let the old man live. Yet she highly doubted it.

The notes of the overture rose into the air, and the lights dimmed and the sound of applause filled the auditorium as the curtains slowly opened. Madame Giry took hold of Christine's shoulders and forced the girl to look at her. "I will help you, but you must listen carefully to what I say," she whispered. "Right now, I have to help with the performance of this opera. If I don't, more disaster may occur. But as soon as it is over, I will…make inquiries…"

Christine's brow furrowed at the woman's words. Inquiries? What did she mean? Yet before she could open her mouth to ask, the ballet mistress continued. "You must trust me Christine, I will learn what has happened and find him, I promise you. In the meantime, it would be best if you went home."

"But-"

"Please, I know this must sound confusing, but you must trust me on this. You should go home before Carlotta has another fit."

Christine felt numb. Was this really happening? She nodded her head to the woman's words, who smiled warmly at her, with a dash of sympathy, before turning and leaving the costume girl alone in the shadows of the back stage.

Carlotta's harpy-like voice filled the auditorium, and Christine found herself seething with anger. She had never met anyone in her whole life that she wished more ill will upon. And the louder Carlotta sang, the more the anger boiled within Christine. No, she would find her father, she would find him right now! And…she had an odd feeling…

The smell of tobacco filled her nostrils and she turned her head to see three stagehands chuckling amongst themselves. The odd feeling grew more and more…

"You!" she hissed, approaching them without a thought or care that they could snap her in two if she angered them enough. "You know something about my father, when did you last see him!"

They stared at her, amazed at her boldness to approach them with such a tone, and found themselves somewhat intimidated. "W-w-what?" one of them asked.

"Monsieur Daae! My father! The violinist! Have you seen him at all?" she demanded.  
They glanced back and forth between themselves and looked back at her, their faces contorting with worry. "What? Tell me!" she demanded, knowing they knew something.

One of them sighed and shook his head. "We tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen. He was too stubborn."

Christine grabbed the man by his shoulders and shook him hard, despite her much smaller frame. The man found himself amazed by the woman's strength. "TELL ME!"

The man shook Christine's hands off him. "He went below!" he grunted. "Down…down there…" he pointed to a door just a few feet away. "I'm sorry mademoiselle, but…he's gone."

"G-g-gone?" Christine asked, her voice trembling, not wanting to hear what she knew they were going to tell her.

"No one is allowed down there without the Phantom's permission. Everyone knows that. We warned him, over and over…but he wouldn't listen."

Christine stared at the door while the men spoke. "I'm sorry mademoiselle, but…you'll never see your father again."

"NO!" Christine shouted, stalking over to the door and gripping the handle with both hands before pulling it open. "I'll find him and I'll bring him back," she swore.

The men stared at her. "Mademoiselle, you can't be serious? The Phantom! He'll…he'll kill you if you go down there-"

"TO HELL WITH THE PHANTOM!" Christine cried out angrily. "I don't care…I'm going to find my father." She grabbed one of the lit oil lamps that was back stage and disappeared into the darkness, closing the door behind her.

The stage hands stared in shock at the closed door. The costume girl was surely doomed, just like her violinist father. The Phantom never showed mercy, everyone knew that. The stage hands crossed themselves and began to pray for the soul of the brave woman who had just entered the mouth of hell.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In search of her father, Christine discovers a terrifying secret...and is forced to make the ultimate sacrifice...

_**Choices** _

The clang of the stage door closing behind her sounded like an iron gate that was locking her in. Christine stood silent for a moment, holding the oil lamp with a shaky hand and observing the never-ending darkness that stood before her. She was alone; no one chose to follow her for they were too afraid, and Christine could hear a tiny voice in her head telling her how foolish it was for her to go into the unknown all by herself.

But her father needed her. He was down here somewhere, she could feel it. He could be hurt, he could be trapped, he could be lost in the shadows. She had to find him, she had to save him, he was all she had left in the world.

Christine took a deep breath and reached up to clutch a rusty locket that hung around her neck. The metal was tarnished and beyond repair, but the picture inside was of her mother, and it was all Christine had left of the woman. She said a silent prayer, took another deep breath, and ventured into the dark unknown.

* * *

"She's…she's here!" Rudolph cried out happily. Despite his large size, he was jumping around like a joyful child at Christmas, clapping his hands and grinning from side to side.

Suzette, who had fallen asleep near the spinning wheel that only a little while ago they had gone to fetch, awoke with a start to Rudolph's jovial dancing. "S-s-s-she's here, S-s-s-suzette!" he stuttered, grasping the tiny woman up into his large thick arms. "S-s-she's come a-a-at last!"

Suzette squealed when she felt her feet lift off the ground. "Rudolph! Put me down at once!" she cried, preferring to be dropped than crushed to death by the exuberant hunchback. He blushed and then immediately placed the tiny woman back on the ground, but his grin never disappeared. Suzette straightened herself. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Rudolph found himself dancing again. "T-t-the gypsy girl! I…I know it's h-h-her!"

Suzette sighed, regretting telling him that story in the first place, especially since she lied about the ending. "Rudolph, that's only a story, there is no-"

"NO!" he shouted, his smile disappearing. "I s-s-saw her! S-s-she's here! S-s-she's wandering near the old p-p-p-prop r-r-room!"

Suzette stared up at him, her brow furrowed. She knew Rudolph could get carried away with the stories she read to him, but this time was different. She could tell by simply looking into his eyes that it was true, he had seen a girl, and that the girl he had seen…was here.

"Near the old prop room?" she asked, feeling her tiny feet carry her away from the cavern they had been occupying. Rudolph simply nodded his head before giggling again. Suzette was glad that he was so happy, but her blood ran cold at the thought of the innocent woman becoming another victim of Erik's booby traps…or of Erik's rage. "Come Rudolph," she whispered. "Take me to her."

* * *

In a further cavern, Gustave sat by candlelight reading a chapter out of the Book of Job. Jacque was sitting a few feet away, sharpening a knife on an old piece of leather. Now and then he would glance at the other man, rolling his eyes as he watched Gustave lean close to the Bible he held.

"How many times have you read that bloody thing?" Jacque asked irritably. Gustave made no comment. "Waste of time," Jacque grunted.

Without lifting his head, Gustave muttered, "I have nothing to say to you, so continue sharpening your toy and leave me to read in peace."

Jacque cast Gustave an angry glare. "What's wrong with you?"

"You mean besides the countless times you mock my faith?" Gustave muttered, without looking up. "How about…you running to the Master to tattle on the rest of us?"

Jacque rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. "The man was a trespasser! Does that not mean anything to you?" he threw his arms up in frustration. "Tell me something Gustave, did you like the carnival? Did you like performing for those fops and being called names? Because I know I didn't! And I am never going back there!"

Gustave sighed. "The man only wanted a spinning wheel-"

"And the second he came back to the surface, he would tell everyone about us down here and a mob would be after us in a second! Think what you like Gustave, but you're wrong! I for one share the Master's feelings, I for one will not go against the Master's orders! I-"

"Papa?"

The word was soft and distant, but it rang out loud and clear for both men who were silenced immediately upon hearing it.

"W-w-w-what was that?" Jacque asked, whirling his head around the cavern.

Silence, and then another call. "Papa?" This time it sounded closer.

"Sounds like…a girl?"

"A GIRL!" Jacque exclaimed, his eyes widening with horror. "Are we to have no peace? How are these people finding us!"

"Quiet!" Gustave ordered, before dragging his clubbed feet by the power of his large arms. Both he and Jacque moved to a crack in the cavern wall, peering out to see if the voice was coming from that direction.

Sure enough, after a few seconds, a small light appeared in the distance, and with it, another cry. "Papa? Can you hear me? Are you there?"

"It is a girl…" Gustave whispered.

"I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" Jacque exploded. "WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS HOW DO WE GET RID OF IT!"

Gustave winced to Jacque's cries, and then paled when he heard, "Papa? Is that…you?"

"See what you've done!" Gustave hissed. "She's heading this way!"

"No…I…I'm not going back there…I'm never going back there!" Jacque mumbled, stepping back frantically and stumbling.

"Get a hold of yourself!"

But it was no use. Despite Gustave's attempt to calm him, Jacque rose to his feet and immediately took off down a dark passage wailing for the Master. Damn! "Papa?" Gustave froze; the voice was nearly there! He quickly dragged himself away, leaving his bible and candle behind.

Christine heard the sound of…feet? She wasn't sure, but she quickly followed the sound, especially as she heard the sound moving faster. "Wait!" she cried out. "Please, I'm trying to find my father! Please! I-"

She entered the cavern and saw the small candle glowing as brightly as it could, lying next to an open bible. Someone was here. It could have been her father, but…why would he run from her? The shuffling sound echoed off a cavern wall, coming from a dark tunnel; Christine took off after it. "Papa! Please! Don't run away, I just want to find my father, Monsieur Daae! Please! I-"

"C-c-christine?"

Christine froze as her father's voice filled her ears. He was alive. He was HERE! "PAPA!" she cried, whirling around the darkness, trying to find him. She lifted her lamp, which was quickly running out of oil, to try and spot him. His voice sounded so faint, she could hear his ragged breathing, which was interrupted by violent coughs. "Papa, where are you? I can't see…"

"It…doesn't…matter!" he said through his coughs. "You must…get yourself out of here!"

She continued to look around, and finally, in a tiny corner of the stone floor, she saw a small iron grate, and her father's hands clinging to the bars. "PAPA!" she cried, rushing over to the bars, falling to her knees, and immediately grasping a hold of the cold iron and attempting to force it open.

It was hopeless, the bars were too strong, and it was clear that the tiny door was locked. She looked down at her father, horrified to see him lying on his back in such a tiny space. His face was hidden by shadows, but his wrinkled hands gripped the bars with all his strength. He was wet too, his body barely rising out of dark murky water that surrounded his prison. The space so was tiny, it was as if he were…buried.

"Christine-"

"Who's done this to you?" she asked angrily, placing the lamp down and seeking out a hairpin. She remembered from one of the gothic novels her mother had read to her about a woman who picked a lock with only a hairpin. She prayed that that part of the story was true.

"There's no time my dear, you must leave, now!"

"No! I'm not going to leave you down here to waste away in the earth!" she went to work with picking the lock, cursing the bitter cold for making her fingers clumsy.

"Christine, please, if you love me, you'll leave this place! He'll be here any second!"

"Who?" she asked, not stopping one second with the lock. It was the only way she could avoid allowing the fear to overtake her.

"The Phantom! He's real, Christine! He'll kill you for sure! He's-"

"…right behind you."

Christine froze. The voice was dark, lower than anything she had ever heard, and every hair on her skin stood on end at the deep growl that reverberated around the cavern walls. Before she could begin to turn her head, a strong hand grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around, so rapidly, that her oil lamp broke and she was encased in shadows.

"W-w-w-who's there! What do you want with us?"

She could hear movement, and felt a soft wind hit her face with each step. "Who am I?" his voice was a deep sinister growl that sent freezing shivers down her spine. "Your father knows…"

"RUN CHRISTINE! SAVE YOURSELF!" the old man shouted.

Christine had never felt so frightened. She found herself reaching for the locket of her mother and clasping it tightly in her hand. She wanted to run, she wanted to flee for her life, but she couldn't abandon her father! She prayed for courage, prayed for resourcefulness, prayed for anything to have this…creature, show mercy upon both she and her father. "Please let my father go…" she whispered. "He didn't mean any harm, it was all a mistake-"

"MISTAKE?" he shouted, causing the cavern walls to shake. "HE KNEW THE RULES! NO ONE IS ALLOWED DOWN HERE! NO ONE!"

Christine wailed, throwing her arms over her head, afraid a piece of rock would come crashing down and hit her. The movement continued, and Christine bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry. She had to show courage! "P-please…" she whispered. "My father…he'll catch his death if he stays in there…"

A dark menacing chuckle came from the Phantom's lips. "Catch his death?" he chuckled some more. "My dear…I am death."

The chuckles were more than Christine could take. She found her own anger flaring up at the sound of the laughter, at the sound of someone mocking her concern for the life of another human being. She bolted to her feet and squared her shoulders. "You want to punish someone so badly for breaking your rules? Fine! TAKE ME!"

The Phantom's laughter ceased. There was a long pause of silence before Daae cried in protest. "Christine! W-w-what are you saying? Don't do this!"

The Phantom looked at the woman before him. After years of living in darkness his eyes had adapted to the point of where he could see so clearly through shadow. Indeed, he had never seen the costume girl like this. She was small; the top of her head would come just below his collar. But she was no waif-like creature. She looked strong for someone so small, and his eyes began raking up and down her body. She wore a simple dull blue dress, which lacked lace and ruffles. She was not thin, but deliciously curved; indeed, he could not help himself from gazing at her ample bosom which rose and fell with every breath. Her hair was dark brown, cascading down her shoulders and back in tiny wild curls that seemed to have a life of their own. The curls framed her beautiful face which was a natural beauty, with rosy cheeks that lacked the over-zealous amount of make-up that Carlotta threw upon herself. Her eyes were wild, a dark blue, that right now held a fire within them. Of course he knew she was spirited, he had witnessed that several times now since she came to his theater. Indeed…having her as his personal slave was not an idea he was against. He moved around her, knowing she could not see him, but enjoying how she looked for him whenever she felt the breeze billowing off his cape. "Do you know what you are asking?" he whispered darkly.

Christine lifted her chin. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his fingers reaching out and with the touch that felt like a soft wind, brushing against her hair. "Because there's no going back. You do this, you can never return. You'll be mine…forever."

Christine felt a lump rise in her throat. Trapped for all eternity in this hell, with no sunlight, no love…nothing. But a protesting cough that escaped her father's lips resolved Christine's decision.

"You have my word," she said with a shaky voice, clasping the locket tightly. "I will stay and take his place."

"NO CHRISTINE! NO!"

The Phantom breathed out a heavy sigh, amazed that he had been on tenterhooks while awaiting her decision. "Then it's done," he growled, removing a key from his pocket and quickly unlocking the small prison door that contained her father.

Christine crumpled to the floor, gasping as the weight of what just took place overcame her. She had agreed to be this creature's prisoner, his…his slave, for…who knows what. She trembled at the thought and felt the bile rise in her throat.

"Christine! What have you done?" she felt her father's arms envelope her from behind, and she turned to cling to him. "I'm an old man, I've lived my life, and you're still young with so much ahead of you! Please, don't do this, I-"

He was yanked out of her arms violently by the unseen Phantom before Christine had the opportunity to say anything. "Wait!" she cried to the darkness, her hands seeking out her father, but finding nothing. "Please! Let me say goodbye!" But her pleas fell on death ears.

"JACQUE!" the Phantom bellowed. The man immediately appeared, and the Phantom pushed the old man into his arms. "Take him away," he growled.

"NO! Please! Spare my daughter! Take me back!" Daae wailed.

Jacque was still in shock. "T-t-t-take him away? You mean…release him? Master, are you sure that's wise?"

One glare from the Phantom said everything Jacque needed to know. He quickly dragged the screaming old man away, leaving the Phantom alone with his silent captive.

Christine was numb. She lay in a crumpled heap on the cavern floor, her breathing slow and uneven. Did this just happen? Did not that morning her father rouse her out of bed, happy and excited for the opening gala that would be taking place? Was it not a week ago that they had come to Paris with such high hopes? She had lost her father; she had lost everything she had ever dreamed for. She was truly alone.

The Phantom looked at the woman who lay on the floor before him. She seemed so small and fragile compared to the other times he had seen her. The spirit he admired was gone. He had at least expected the girl to be lost in hysterics, sobbing endlessly or attacking him with what strength she had. But this was not what he expected, this mute shell of a woman. She simply lay there, lifeless, save for the odd sounds that her breathing made.

Now what? Should he approach her? If he did, what then? The prison he had placed the old man was an ancient torture chamber where the victim was boxed in a tiny space, while water slowly flooded into the area, bringing the agonizing reality that the person trapped would soon drown. He couldn't put her in there, although she was a trespasser and deserved death like all the others. But he had never killed a woman; frightened a few into insanity he was sure, but he had never killed one.

Clearly he hadn't thought this plan through, however, to his credit, it had landed upon him out of nowhere. He had to do something with her, he just couldn't leave her there with the opportunity to escape; she would wind up killing herself from one of his elaborate booby traps.

Women; he was beginning to understand why he never got involved with them; they were too much of a hassle to try and figure out what to do with!

"Suzette," he muttered. The tiny woman appeared at the sound of her name. "Take the girl…to the Southern chamber."

Suzette stared up at him. "But Master…that's where the costume cages are kept-"

"Exactly," he simply said. "Place her in one of those until I decide what to do with her. Or at least till the opera is finished."

Suzette couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're going back to the opera?"

The Phantom looked down at the little woman, wondering why the shock in her voice. "It's opening night Suzette; I must see that everything is going as it should."

"BUT…THE GIRL!" she shouted. Christine still lay lifeless on the ground, not even flinching to the conversation taking place. "Master…you cannot leave, not like this at least. We must…we must do something; she's only a child, look at her! She's just lost her father and freedom-"

"THEN SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE TRESPASSED!" he growled harshly. Suzette jumped and took a step back, not wishing to anger Erik more than he already was. That was one ill fate she did not wish on the poor girl. He groaned and ran a hand through his limp black hair. "Do as I say…take her to the Southern cavern, lock her in one of the cages, and after the opera, I will be down to see her."

"Yes Master," she whispered. Satisfied, Erik turned to leave, but a soft small voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Before you go…" came the faint voice of the costume girl, "…I have but one favor to ask…" A death-like silence filled the cavern. "…let me look upon my captor…so that I may know the monster to which I gave my life away to."

Her words were bitter, filled with anger and hatred. It was expected, but Erik had no pity for the girl, it was her decision and she gave her word. It was too late for her. And because of this reason, he had no problem granting her meek request. Without a word, he lit a match and walked over to the far side of the cavern wall. Every cavern had a candleholder, and Erik proceeded to light it, his back to the costume girl.

As the light slowly illuminated the cavern, Christine peered through the shadows and began to make out a shape, a large black shape that was tall and broad. She realized that the blackness belonged to his cape that hung from his broad shoulders all the way to his ankles. Slowly, so slowly, he turned, revealing more of himself to her eyes. Black boots, black trousers…followed by a black vest and black dress coat. A hint of white could be seen, which indicated his shirt peeking out from the coat and vest. His arms, which looked like strong tree limbs, hung at his sides clad in black leather gloves. Her eyes went higher and higher, his face cloaked in the shadows, the collar of his cape lifted high. She squinted, thinking she could see something pale in the darkness of where his face would be. "Come into the light…" she whispered.

Without any word, he slowly lifted his head to where the candlelight was streaming. She saw amber eyes, like that of a panther, glaring back into hers. His hair was black, which he had pulled back, as was the fashion in Paris. Several strands escaped the tie in which he kept it, hanging like limp shaggy threads across his eyes. She saw one cheek, which looked like the cheek of any man; rough and hinted with a few age lines around the mouth and eye. But it was the other half of his face that caused her eyes to widen and her heart to stop. The paleness she had seen earlier belonged to a mask; a smooth off-white mask that covered the right side of his face from the corner of his mouth all the way up to his forehead. She was frozen in terror at this mysterious creature. It was true…everything she heard from the stagehands and the ballet; the Phantom was real.

Erik held his arms out from his side, as if displaying himself. "Behold your captor my dear; behold your eternity."

She said nothing. Her eyes fluttered slightly, before rolling back and collapsing on the floor.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth isn't what you want to see. Both Daae and Erik make that discovery as two dark truths are revealed to them.

_**Truth** _

Her head hurt. Christine groaned as she slowly awoke, her head throbbing with pain as if someone were banging it like a drum. Why did her pillow feel so hard? Almost as if it felt like…stone?

Her eyes flew open as a sudden memory filled her brain. "Please…it had to have been a nightmare…" she whispered to herself. But as her eyes slowly took in the dim light that was all around her, she could see that her nightmare was more terrifying than she thought possible.

Bars. Before her she saw nothing but cold iron bars. She was in a cage.

"No…" she whispered, quickly rising to her feet and gripping the hard metal with her tiny fists. "Hello?" she cried, banging on the bars, knowing she could not pry them apart, yet still her body tried. "Someone? Please? HELP ME! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?" she continued banging on the bars, praying that someone somewhere…other than the Phantom, would hear her cries.

The Phantom. She trembled as she remembered him, standing before her, clad in black, darker than midnight, save for his pale mask. Why did he wear a mask? Was it to enhance the terror his reputation had already sent forth? Or…was it something far more sinister? She recalled some of the stories she heard the ballet girls chattering about when Madame Giry was not present. Stories about the Phantom and his terrifying face.

However, his face was the least of her worries. Her father! The Phantom had her father removed…but where? Did he release him as he had ordered? Or was it all a trick? A trick to have his revenge on her father while still keeping her for…

Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought, and she felt the bile rise slightly.

No, she would not let any man have her, not that way, never! She would kill herself before it happened! Or kill him…

"There must be a way out of here," she muttered, stepping away from the bars and examining her prison. Was there a door? She could not see one, but there had to be one! She peered all around her, noticing for the first time hanging racks filled with nothing but elaborate costumes…costumes that she realized had long since been forgotten. Perhaps there was a door behind the racks! She pushed through the fabric, trying to see if she could find anything, when a loud thump startled her.

Christine whirled around to where the noise had come from, peering out past the bars, but saw no one. "H-h-h-hello?" she asked the air with a shaky voice. She could hear breathing, but saw no one! "Is someone there? Hello?"

Nothing…

And then, "SHE'S AWAKE!"

Christine screamed as a large hunchback emerged from the shadows out of no where, his baggy thick face pressed against the bars. "She's awake! She's…" he stopped when he realized Christine was screaming, and then he too, started screaming.

"Rudolph! Stop it at once!" a figure cried, coming down from the cavern walls like an ape that was swinging from the trees. Christine continued to scream as this figure gripped the bars of her cage with his overgrown hands, his legs small and shriveled, hanging lifelessly from his body. The ape-like man turned to Christine, biting his lip with worry. "Please don't scream mademoiselle, you'll only frighten Rudolph more!"

Rudolph continued screaming, his cry terrifying and sharp, causing the cavern ceiling to shake. "RUDOLPH!" as if on cue, all the noise stopped, as a tiny dwarf-woman emerged, throwing her shroud off and immediately coming to the hunchback's side to comfort him. "There, there," she whispered. "It's alright, you just startled her is all, she's not terrified of you…she won't hurt you…"

Christine stared in bewilderment at the three figures that were outside her cage. A dwarf, a hunchback, and a man whose body seemed to have stopped developing below his waist; they were all…

"Freaks," the little woman said out loud, as if reading Christine's thoughts. "We accept it," she sighed, finally calming Rudolph down to where he curled himself up into a ball and rocked himself back and forth, staring at Christine behind the bars. Satisfied, the woman turned and did a small curtsy. "My name is Suzette," she greeted warmly. "And this is Gustave," she added, indicating the man with the clubbed feet and the large ape-like arms. "And…well, you've met Rudolph," she said with a smile, rubbing a small hand over the hunchback's arm.

Christine was at a loss for words; she didn't know what to say! "W-w-who…h-how…"

Gustave cleared his throat and began to speak. "We work for the Master, and…were told to keep watch for when you awoke," he explained.

"The Master?" Christine asked, staring at the three of them. "Do you mean…the Phantom?"

Gustave and Suzette exchanged glances. "Well," Gustave muttered. "That is one name…but he prefers 'master'."

Despite the unbelievable chaos of the situation, Christine's face contorted to one of anger at the words. "He is no master of me," she hissed, before turning her face away to hide the angry tears that threatened to show.

Suzette sighed and approached the cage with sympathy. "My dear…please do not despair…the Master is truly good-"

"GOOD?" Christine whirled around at the words. "Good? He imprisoned my father! He threatened to kill us! I'M IN A CAGE!" she shouted, rushing to the bars and beating them with her fists.

The three figures stepped back and Rudolph whimpered. Suzette immediately placed a calming hand on the hunchback's arm and his whimpering ceased. The girl was right; the Master behaved like a monster earlier, how else would she think of him?

Christine stared at the figures then turned away, sitting on the rocky ground and tucking her legs up under her chin. Suzette gazed upon the girl's crumpled form, sighed, and turned to the others. "Why don't you both go and wait for the Master to return." Gustave took the hint and urged Rudolph to follow.

"G-g-g-goodbye gypsy girl!" Rudolph said somewhat happily, before turning and leaving with Gustave.

Christine turned her head slightly to watch as the two male figures left. Suzette smiled softly, although her eyes were filled with utmost sympathy. "Rudolph loves the story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame…I confess, I changed the ending somewhat for him…now whenever he sees a beautiful girl, he thinks she's Esmeralda," she chuckled softly. Christine still remained frozen. "My dear-"

"Please," Christine whispered, "Just…just leave me alone."

Suzette bit her lip. "W-would you like me to bring you something hot to drink? Are you hungry? I-"

"Please go," Christine whispered again, curling herself up into a tiny ball and hugging her legs even closer than before. Suzette sighed and lowered her head in defeat. Time was what the girl needed most.

"Here, in case you get cold," the little woman whispered, pushing a wool blanket through the bars. Christine didn't say a word, she simply lay where she was. Suzette sighed and began to walk away. Yet she stopped, paused, and turned one more time. "I just…I just wanted to say…that I think what you did was extremely brave. I don't think many people would have been able to do what you did…" Christine didn't respond at all. Suzette gave a soft smile, tears threatening her own eyes, before turning and leaving the girl alone in her cage of iron and despair.

For the longest time she lay there, still as a mouse, listening to her surroundings, listening for the agonizing sound of footsteps. Yet none came. She turned her head slightly, looking around her dim surroundings (a single torch illuminated the cavern, which hung near the cavern's only entrance), and satisfied that she was truly alone, sprung to her feet and frantically began to look for a way out.

_Somewhere…I know there is a door here somewhere!_ She pushed through the layers of dusty cob-webbed covered costumes, coughing and sneezing here and there, desperately seeking the way out of her prison. And then…at last, hiding behind a large heavy black drape, she found it…the tiny door that kept her and freedom apart.

It was locked, as she suspected, but that didn't matter. She would get out, she was quite determined! She grabbed the last hairpin she had, causing her already loose hair to fall completely down her back and shoulders, and set to work. She had to hurry, for she could hear, ever so softly, the last chorus of the opera being sung.

* * *

"HEY! GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS NO PLACE FOR DRUNKARDS OR BEGGARS!"

Daae gasped in pain as he felt a sharp thick boot kick him hard in his side. He glanced up, his eyes red and swollen, seeing a man in a maroon uniform glare down at him. He immediately recognized the uniform as belonging to one of the doormen of the Opera House. Why was he outside the Opera House, and why was this man kicking him and urging him to move along?

And then it all came back.

"CHRISTINE!" Daae cried, quickly rising as fast as his frail legs would allow. "My daughter! Oh you must help me!" he wailed, gripping the lapels of the doorman's coat. "He has her! He has my daughter!"

"GET OFF!" the doorman shouted, shoving Daae away. "And move on before I call the police!"

Police? YES! That was exactly what he needed! "Yes! Please! We must get the police at once! I need to speak with Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin, they will help me, I know it!"

The doorman stopped Daae and shoved him again, this time sending the old man to the ground. "GET OUT OF HERE YOU DRUNKEN FOOL!" he clenched his fist in a threatening manner, and Daae suddenly realized in his panic that this man was not going to let him by. The man didn't know him, and Daae looked at his own tattered coat and mud-caked clothes and knew it was a lost cause. Who would believe that he was an employee of the Paris Opera House?

"Are you deaf old man? I SAID GO!" Daae quickly sprung to his feet before the doorman had the opportunity to kick him again with his boot. He quickly scampered away, hearing the doorman's threats behind him, knowing he had to find someone who would help him…but who? Would the police believe him? No, he needed someone who knew him, someone who would help him find a way to get Christine back! But who? Who had such influence to help a grieving old man?

* * *

"And…remember the way she paused, because there was supposed to be…that violin solo!" laughed a well dressed gentleman, before taking another drink from his brandy glass.

A small group of men erupted with laughter, each pounding one another on the back, lighting cigars, and drinking brandy as the minutes ticked by.

"That was priceless…" another man chuckled. "Oh Raoul, you sure picked a good star! At least we all now have something to entertain us at that bloody place!"

Raoul gave a small trying smile to his friend's comment, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as he inwardly dealt with his irritation. The evening was somewhat short of horrible. At least the horridness disappeared when Carlotta wasn't on stage. Unfortunately, there were only three scenes in the whole opera when she made no appearance. And despite the money he was making off her name and so-called talents, he hated feeling like a fool, which was exactly what his friends were doing.

"She reminded me of my dog," one man added. "Except I think that bitch can actually hit a proper note!" the others burst out laughing, while Raoul simply glared.

"Oh come now Raoul," a red-haired man chuckled. "Despite the woman's less than spectacular performance, the evening was a success."

"Here, here!" the others crowed.

"Indeed!" the red-haired man continued. "No doubt, thanks to our friend Maurice," he said, lifting his glass in the direction of a bearded gentleman who was sitting with them, "who as we all know has such a high influence with the papers, a good review will be published and more people will come to see the woman, and more money will be placed in our pockets! See? Everyone wins!"

Raoul gave a glare to his friend, but then a smile spread across his face. "Indeed, you are right Pierre," he said, raising his glass. "To La Carlotta and the money she will bring to us all…was I not right to encourage you to invest with the Opera?"

The men chuckled. "Indeed, except for poor Claude, who only goes because his wife insists!"

Claude gave the others a glare. "How else am I to convince her that I'm not going out every night to be with my mistress? I swear the woman has spies following me!"

"Oh who gives a damn what the woman thinks," Pierre grumbled. "It's your own bloody fault that you got married in the first place!"

"I needed an heir!" Claude defended.

"Don't we all?" Maurice added. "Yet you don't hear the rest of us who are married complaining. Why? Because we know who is the head of our households, and it's not our bloody wives!" several other men cheered to Maurice's words and lifted their glasses in a toast.

"Too true," Pierre added, lighting another cigar. "Really Claude, the next thing you're going to tell us that she insists that you actually give her pleasure when you're fucking her!"

"If she lets you," Maurice added. The men burst out laughing while Claude turned a bright red.

"Leave the man alone," Raoul interjected, although he had been laughing along with the others. "The point of a mistress is so that you don't have to sleep your wife! And Claude is the only one who's future is secure with at least two heirs."

"Legitimate heirs," Claude grumbled.

"Here, here," Maurice chuckled.

"Speaking of mistresses," Pierre commented, "How does it go with the dried up soprano?"

Raoul was sipping his brandy when he heard the words. He glared from the rim of his glass at his friend, but forced a polite smile. "She still serves her purposes," he simply said. "And you good man? Still pursuing young male falsettos?"

Pierre turned a deep shade of red while the other men burst out laughing. Raoul couldn't help but grin wickedly. "Come now Pierre," he muttered with a cigar between his lips. "We are all friends, are we not?"

Pierre forced a smile at the Vicomte. "Actually, I have met a delicious ballet girl by the name of Madeline. Very buxom for a dancer, and has a mouth like you wouldn't believe…not to mention a throat…"

The others were leaning in close, practically drooling at the man's words. "And she tells me Raoul, that you've been seen attempting to…seduce the new costume girl?"

The other men turned to the Vicomte with surprised looks. "A costume girl? Raoul, I distinctly remember you saying how the lowest a man could sink was with a chorus girl…but a costume girl? What has fucking Carlotta done to you?"

Before Raoul could speak, Pierre continued. "Not only has he been seen attempting to lure this girl to his bed-"

"-or lounge," Claude chuckled.

"But it seems that…could it be…the costume girl has spurned you?"

The others stared in horror. "Raoul…if a mere costume girl spurns you…there's no hope for the rest of us."

"She did not SPURN me!" Raoul growled, chewing on his cigar. "And I will have that girl…and if you had seen this woman, you'd understand why she's worth the pursuit! Luscious curves, full breasts, an ample bottom that's never felt anything other than the fabric of her undergarments…not to mention nimble little fingers that could grip anything hard and thick…"

Now the men were drooling at Raoul's description. Pierre snorted with disgust, causing the trance to break. "Point being that you haven't succeeded in bedding her," he grumbled. "Now, if you'll excuse me gentlemen, I am meeting the delectable Madeline who is going to introduce me to one of her dear little friends, and the three of us are going to go back to my apartment for a private party, while you sorry lot sit here and smoke cigars with one another. Good evening," he said, before tipping his hand and heading towards the door.

Yet the second Pierre reached it, an old man, looking frantic, burst inside, crying the Vicomte's name. "The Vicomte de Chagny? I'm looking for the Vicomte? Have you seen him? Anyone? Please!"

Pierre looked at Raoul from across the room, and Raoul rose to his feet, locking eyes with his friend before looking at the muddy old man. "Please! I have to find him! He can help me, I know it! I-MONSIEUR VICOMTE!" Daae rushed to Raoul's side and practically fell to his knees. "Monsieur, you must help me! Please! He has her! He's taken her! WE MUST GET THE POLICE AT ONCE!"

"Who are you?" Raoul asked in disgust, moving away from the lunatic that had fallen at his feet.

Daae glanced up, surprised by the Vicomte's words, not to mention his tone. Yet he was covered in mud and dirt, he was probably unrecognizable. "Why it's me monsieur, the violinist? Monsieur Daae? You once complimented me on my playing."

"Did I?" Raoul asked, lifting an eyebrow. "I confess, I do not remember speaking to someone like you…but then the Opera House is filled with many…" he looked Daae up and down before removing his scented handkerchief and lifting it to his nose. "Anyway, why do you come here sir, interrupting the merriment of my club in such a distressed state?"

"HE HAS HER MONSIEUR! WE MUST SAVE HER! PLEASE!" Daae was gripping the Vicomte's evening coat, holding on for dear life, praying that this man would believe him.

The Vicomte was overwhelmed by the stench the man was in, and managed to push the feeble old man off him, coughing at the smell. "Remove him from here," he muttered to some of the staff who had come to see what the commotion was all about.

"NO! Monsieur, my daughter is Christine Daae! The costume girl! You have spoken with her, on several occasions, am I not correct? Please! You must help me get her back!"

"Come on old fool!" one of the staff members grumbled, dragging Daae away.

Raoul rolled his eyes. "Get her back from whom?"

"THE PHANTOM! THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!"

There was a brief moment of silence, before the whole room burst into laughter. Everyone save for the Vicomte. He hated talk about the Phantom. It was a myth that was created by Joseph Bouquet, but he hated how it continued to live on, and how there were those that felt it necessary to make the myth seem real by sending threats and demands, not to mention the hysteria several people at the Opera House had over the silly ghost stories.

"Get him out of here," Raoul growled, before sitting back down at his table and taking a long drink from his glass.

"NO! MONSIEUR, PLEASE! HE HAS HER! WE MUST SAVE HER!"

"Your daughter probably ran off with a stage hand to offer him her so-called virginity. I mean what can one except from a costume girl?" Raoul's comment was greeted by hysterical laughter, and Daae stared in horror at the Vicomte as he was dragged away and thrown out onto the street.

"STAY OUT!" they shouted at him, before slamming the door in his face.

Daae stared at the closed doors, the horrible words ringing in his ears. The one man who he thought cared for his daughter was a cad…and he was truly alone. The managers wouldn't see him, no one would let him back inside the Opera House, and now its most powerful patron had abandoned him as well…not mention had turned out to be snake.

"I'll go to the police myself!" Daae said with determination. "I have to save her…I must!"

* * *

Madame Giry had waited till the theater was practically empty, save for a few stage hands that were cleaning up. She had urged Meg to go home with several friends and explained she had some important matters to discuss with the managers. Now that she was alone, she made her way towards the secret door that she always used to gain access to the secret labyrinth of the Phantom.

Yet the door was locked. It had never been locked before, it was a secret passage that only she and Erik knew how to open! And only Erik had the power to lock it…

"Good evening madam," Erik greeted coldly as always.

Madame Giry whirled around, staring at the shadows in front of her, before seeing the tall masked figure image from the darkness. "Erik! W-w-what are you doing up here!"

"I may feel free to move about my theater however I please," he explained, before extending an envelope to the woman. "Here is a note I wish you to give to my dear managers. It's rather thick…due to all the corrections they need to make before the next performance."

Madame Giry stared up at Erik, his face always unreadable, mask or no mask. "Perhaps the performance would have been better if a certain violinist was present."

Erik snorted. "I highly doubt it…that harpy can butcher anything, from a simple scale of notes to the most beautiful opera composed. No violin solo would have saved the evening."

"Where is he Erik?" Madame Giry asked, feeling her body shake with fury. She hated these games, he only said such things to prolong the agony, like a cat that had caught a mouse, but was merely playing with it before killing the wretched creature.

Erik had been pacing when the conversation began, yet now stood frozen, his amber eyes catching the ballet mistress'. "You know my rules," he growled.

"Erik, please! He didn't mean you any harm, and you know it! He's an old man, he's barely been here long enough to know anything about you! He-"

"THEN IT WAS HIGH TIME HE FOUND OUT!" the Phantom barked, retreating to the shadows, his cape billowing behind him. Yet he had not gone. Madame Giry could still hear his breathing, could still feel his presence in the small space.

"Is he dead?" she asked, her voice heavy with weariness. How could she approach Christine with such news? "Erik?"

"You know my rules, madam."

"DAMN YOUR RULES ERIK! IS THE MAN DEAD?" she had had enough of this nonsense.

There was a long pause, so long that Madame Giry wasn't sure if he was still there or not. Erik had the uncanny ability to move about like…well, for lack of better words, a ghost. Unseen, unheard, yet very present.

Finally, the silence was broken. "You forget yourself madam," he hissed from the shadows. "You forget that I allow you to enter my world. You forget that you are a guest…and you forget that I have the power to control whether those booby traps that you pass so easily go off or not. I do not take orders from you…and I do not answer questions unless I wish to."

Madame Giry felt a cold shiver run up and down her body. Was he declaring her an enemy like all the others? The last thing the Opera House needed was a war, and she knew that if Erik's madness was driven beyond the point of no return, a war was what would happen. The ghastly things he was doing right now were by no means the crescendo of his fiendishness.

"Leave madam," Erik whispered; the harshness of his voice was somewhat less, but the coldness remained very present. "Go home and rest. The ballet has much to work on before the next opera."

Madame Giry's face tightened into one of anger. How dare he tell her how to properly run a ballet company! She was a dancer, not he! "Stick to your compositions Erik," she hissed. "I do not tell you how to write music, do not tell me how to train my dancers."

Erik found himself taken aback by her words. "This is my theater madam, I run things here!" the rage was boiling in his voice. "And you shall deliver that note-"

"DELIVER IT YOURSELF!" she shouted, throwing the note on the floor and stomping on it with her boot. "I am done playing your messenger," she hissed to the shadows. She turned on her heel then and began to stalk off, her black skirts billowing behind her.

"HOW DARE YOU-"

"NO!" she cried out, wheeling around. "How dare you! How dare you threaten an innocent old man, how dare you commit heartless murders, how dare you patronize my years of extensive research and training in the art of dance!" she had never felt such fury. "You know something Erik…I am sorry that the world turned its back on you because of your face. I'm sorry that the world spat at you, that the world denied you, that the world caged you and then laughed at you and called you names. But how you are perceived now is your own responsibility! You control the monster, not the world! The way you show no compassion for anyone or anything! The way you threaten others, the way you…you use women for whatever lusts you crave! And the way you talk…how this is your theater, how these are your rules! Do you have any idea who you are sounding like?" There was a long silence. She took a deep breath, not sure if he were still there or not, but knew she had to say it. "I see no difference Erik…no difference whatsoever between yourself and the Vicomte de Chagny!" With that, she turned and picked up her skirts and ran, not looking back, not once.

Erik was in the shadows, he had not gone. He had stayed that whole time, listening to her words, wanting to lash out, wanting to scream, but he was frozen. Did he breathe? Did his heart beat? Did he have a heart?

What did she mean by that? No difference between himself and the Vicomte…there were PLENTY of differences! Erik appreciated music, all the Vicomte cared about was money! The Vicomte was this blonde Apollo figure, while Erik was more like the disfigured Hephaestus. Yes, Erik paid for women to…but he did not leave them pregnant and ruin their promising careers! He groaned and clenched his fists, damning his uncontrollable lusts for flesh, damning all that the world had done to him! He couldn't go out into the world! He had been put into a carnival freak show! His own mother had abandoned him as a child! What else could he do? He had no choice but to go into hiding, and if no one else was going to care for the Opera House, for the art of music, then he had to! He looked like a monster, but he was not like the Vicomte, he wasn't…he wasn't…he…he…

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" in a roar of rage, Erik headed down one of his many passageways, down to his labyrinth, down to his hell, down to his sanctuary! And while he fled, he remembered the girl, remembered the body that he found himself lusting for when he first saw her there in the cavern, her fiery spirit shining like a beacon in her wild blue eyes.

And he had never been more disgusted with himself. He actually thought himself above the Vicomte, but he realized that by doing what he intended, by turning the girl into an unwilling sexual slave for his own pleasure…

Madame Giry was right, damn it! He was no different than the Vicomte!

He shouldn't go to her; he should leave her where she was and not have anything to do with her! He could release her like her father, send her away, be sure the Opera House would not take her back, get rid of her as he got rid of the old man and never be plagued by her beauty again! That would make him different from the Vicomte!

Yet despite these thoughts he found himself running, flying it seemed, through the dark tunnels, through the dimly lit chambers, past rocks, past the underground lake, past deeply cut pits that he truly believed led to hell itself. He flew to the area of his world where he knew she was kept, and he did not stop till he reached the cavern.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He listened, but he couldn't hear the sound of her breathing.

He swiftly approached the cage, not caring if she screamed, just having to see her, not sure why, but feeling the need to simply look at her face, look into her storm-colored eyes and somehow, find something in them that resembled what part of humanity he had, that did not reflect the Vicomte, but reflected his own monster, that reflected himself.

He gripped the bars, unsure what to say. What was her name? He had heard the ballet girls say it often…Catherine? Caroline? CHRISTINE! Yes! But should he reveal that he knew her name? Did it matter? He simply wanted to look at her! Her sleeping form would suffice, anything, just…

He froze.

On the ground, inside the cage, lay a blanket and several costumes that had fallen from the hangers they had been hung on. He didn't have to peer inside to see what had happened. He already knew, for on the ground, shining dimly from the torch light lay a glistening hair pin.

And next to the pin, was an open door.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as Christine is concerned, the Phantom is nothing but a horrible monster...but is it possible for monsters to change?

_**Hero** _

Empty.

The cage was empty.

She was gone. She had promised to take her father's place, and now she was gone.

He felt like a fool. He had actually felt sorry for her! Felt sorry for taking her prisoner, for frightening her, and for the threats he had made. And he had flown to this cage, hoping that somehow he could find some thread of humanity within him by simply looking at her.

And she had abandoned him.

"JACQUE! GUSTAVE! SUZETTE!"

Within moments, the others arrived, looking frantic and worried when they saw their master, his whole body rigid with fury.

"The girl is gone…" he growled.

Suzette gasped and looked at the cage, seeing the open door. She should have stayed, she shouldn't have left, the poor child. She blamed herself completely for this.

"She's out?" Jacque sputtered, his body beginning to tremble. "She'll tell…she'll…she'll tell the others…they'll…they'll be down here after us!" his voice broke into hysterics. In two strides Erik had Jacque by the back of the neck and slapped the man so hard, he would have stumbled backward had not Erik been holding him upright.

"FIND HER!" he hissed. "She will not tell anyone…find her NOW!"

Gustave and Jacque turned and left the cavern as quickly as they had arrived. Suzette was holding a small hand to her mouth, looking frightened and worried. "She'll get herself killed Master…she does not know these tunnels like us! She'll-"

"Fetch Rudolph and look for her…" he growled, turning his back on the little woman.

"But Master-"

"DO AS I SAY!" he roared, turning abruptly, his amber eyes wild with rage. The little woman squealed and ran away, calling for Rudolph as she went. Erik felt his body sag, like a weight had been lifted. The rage of the moment had passed, but only momentarily. He needed to quench his fury, and there was only one way that he could turn his anger into art; turn his madness into beauty.

He raced to his private cavern, the place where he kept his beloved organ, and once there, threw off his cape, his hat, even his dress coat, and seated himself at the bench, sweat dripping down his forehead, his heart pumping wildly, as he drew the score to the music stand. His leather-gloved fingers moved over the familiar keys, and without looking down, he began to play. The song was his own composition, one he wrote during a very bad mood, and it was a song that could either soothe the rage he felt…or kindle it to wildfire.

The only good thing about emotions was the artistic drive they gave for his compositions. He played passionately, his fingers large and rough, yet so skilled and quick, moving over the keys like a harsh caress. He pounded on them harder as he felt the fury grow more and more in his blood. He played faster, his whole body shaking with each note, the organ causing the ceiling and walls to tremble. His body was tense, rigid, every muscle rippling in his back, shoulders, and arms, and yet he continued to play, not caring for the pain he could feel, or the blood that dripped from his blistered fingers.

In a tiny corner of the dark room, Christine lifted her head from behind a stone gargoyle she had been using as a hiding place. Once she had escaped her prison, her joy was short lived, for she realized all too soon that her true prison was this underground labyrinth of rock and shadow. She moved quietly through the stone caverns so as not to attract attention from the Phantom's servants. There had to be a way out, if she could find the way in which she had come…but then strange things began to happen. She had turned a corner, decided it was the wrong way, and upon turning around, found the way she had come blocked off. When or how this happened she was unsure, but she realized that she was in far greater danger outside of the cage than in it.

She continued on her unknown journey, her hands the only thing that guided her, for she had no lamp and there was no light in these tunnels. She heard voices overhead, and then she heard the furious scream of the Phantom; he had just learned of her escape. She had to hurry.

She moved as quickly as possible, her hands stretched out, her feet unsure, but she continued moving. Several times she stumbled and fell, feeling her skirts ripping, but not caring, forcing herself up and moving onward. Then, up ahead, she saw light. It was dim, but it was still light. She moved towards it, faster and faster, gasping as she felt her leg cut against something sharp. She bit her lip and held back the painful cry, especially as she realized her leg was bleeding somewhat. But she continued, and finally, she reached the dimly lit place, and found herself staring in wonder at her new surroundings.

It was a large cavern, bigger than some of the others she had seen. There were lush Persian rugs on the ground, silver candle operas, and vibrate medieval tapestries that hung from the walls. There were mahogany chairs and tables, covered with musical instruments and piles upon piles of parchment. She looked at one pile, and realized that it was a musical score. No…an opera! One that she had never heard of… _Don Juan Triumphant_.

A breeze rushed through the cavern and made a soft howling sound. She looked up to see what caused the sound and gasped loudly at the sight of the magnificent pipe organ that seemed imbedded with the rock. She began to approach it, but then heard a noise…like footsteps…in the distance.

Someone was coming. Or worse, he was coming. She had to hide. Somewhere, anywhere! She saw a curtained area off to her left and dashed for it, flinging the curtains open, looking for a place to hide, but finding instead…a bedroom? Yes, a large mahogany bed that looked as if it belonged to a Middle Eastern sheik. It was covered with soft sheer veils, large purple and scarlet gold-trimmed pillows, and a lush blanket that looked like velvet and silk combined. Was this the Phantom's bedchamber? It reminded her of something she had read in a gothic romance, but all thoughts of such things vanished when she heard the footsteps quickly approaching. She could not hide here, what if he came in? Her only other option was behind a large stone gargoyle that filled a tiny corner at the far end of the organ room. And so she hid, and she waited, and she held her breath as the raging Phantom entered the chamber, throwing off some of his garments, and began to play most passionately at the organ.

She bit her lip as she watched him. The way he played…as if he was tortured by something. She had never seen anyone play with such passion, or with such fury. She should be afraid, yet she wasn't…she was intrigued.

The haunting music sounded familiar in some way to her, like she had heard it before in a dream. She found herself being drawn from her hiding place, rising slowly and softly from the shadows and stepping into the soft candlelight. He had his back to her; the emotion in which he played had all his attention, she even wondered if he could hear her. She knew that the others would be looking for her, yet she believed she had a better chance of escaping with them in pursuit than with the Phantom. This was her chance. She could slip out, unnoticed, and seek an exit. She would find something, she was sure of it. She just had to do it before he realized she was behind him.

But a different voice gnawed at her. He had imprisoned her father, threatened to kill him, threatened her own life, and placed her in a cage. He was cruel, a villainous fiend that was more of a monster than a man. And perhaps because he was a man and not a ghost, was what made him so monstrous.

And she should seek out her revenge.

That was what the voice was telling her. _Why does he wear a mask? Why does he live beneath the Opera House? What is his secret?_ She wanted to know, and had a feeling that by removing his mask, she would learn it. It all lay there, the answer to all her questions, beneath that mask, and all she had to do was reach out and grab it. He wouldn't know; he didn't know that she was there right now, and before he realized what had happened, she would have her revenge. Revenge for holding her prisoner, revenge for harming her father, revenge for all those other people who had lost their lives to the Phantom's wrath.

Four steps. She was four steps away from him. Four…three…

_No! Just run and leave!_

Two steps. She was only two steps away. His body was slumped over the organ, every muscle tense, every fiber of his being locked with the music. And yet he was still unaware that she was behind him.

_Leave Christine! Leave now! Don't do this, you'll regret it!_

One step. She was only one step away. She could easily reach out and grab the mask…one tiny step was all it took.

_You should have run…you'll never escape now._

Erik was lost in the music. The song had changed from the furious sound in which it had begun to a lonely melody filled with both passion and despair. A song of longing, a song of need; a song that was his autobiography. He played with such emotion that it wasn't until he began to feel the breeze against his deformed cheek that he saw the shadow in the candlelight behind him and noticed the curtain to his bedchamber was fully open, with a small trail of blood on the floor.

And then he felt nothing.

His mask was gone. His face exposed. The cold air hit it like a knife, and he stumbled backwards at the shock of it.

Christine stumbled back too, shocked at what had just happened. Without even thinking, she had reached out and grabbed a hold of his mask and now held it in her small hands. The Phantom sprang to life from his musical enchantment and whirled around to face her, his amber eyes wild and filled with shock, fear, and rage. Rage most especially.

"YOU!" he shouted, his hand flying to his face to cover his exposure.

But it was too late. She had seen it.

Christine stared, her eyes wide in horror. Her mouth fell open, as if wanting to scream, but no sound came out. She stared at the sight of his misshapen deformity and felt her stomach tie up in knots, felt her knees go weak, and felt her head become light. The side of his face that she had unmasked was a mirror opposite to the other. His "normal" side was rough-skinned with a strong jaw line, like any man who was workman. But the other…was pale, ghostly pale. The skin was pulled over bones that seemed to want to poke through it. A part of his cheek was sunken in, almost looking skeletal, and several large deep red scars stretched out over the sunken flesh, looking like blood spots. His dark hair that fell across his face hid a nasty scar that looked as if someone had hit him with a rock and the wound had never healed, as if a part of his skull was missing, and only had hair growing over it. And his nose; on one side it looked like any nose would, perfectly sloped, but on the other, the slope of the nose stopped altogether, the nostril sunken in somewhat. His lip curled upward, exposing a few teeth in the corner, and a small pile of baggy flesh, that should have been where his cheek was, settled over the eyebrow. She had never seen anyone like this. She had never imagined anyone like this.

"YOU LITTLE WITCH!"

Christine stared up at the Phantom as he advanced upon her, his hand still tightly clamped to his face. "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!"

Christine backed away, her body trembling as he advanced. She hadn't realized how he towered over her or how broad his body was. He could easily crush her in two if he wanted…and she had a feeling he did. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! SPEAK YOU LITTLE VIPER!"

Christine trembled and cowered, backing up more and more as he closed in. She couldn't speak, all she could do was stare and damn herself for her foolishness. Her fingers were shaking so that she dropped the mask, but in lightening speed, he reached out and grabbed it before it hit the ground. Just as quickly, he placed it back on his face, which calmed him somewhat, but his rage was still kindling. "Why…didn't you tell me…" he growled, "…that you wanted to see the PHANTOM!" he roared.

Christine squealed as he threw his arms out, grabbing hold of a table and throwing to the ground. "I…I…" she stammered.

"WHAT?" he roared again, grabbing hold of a chair and throwing it against the wall, causing it to splinter and crumble apart.

"I…I'm s-s-s-sorry…" she barely whispered.

"SORRY? YOU'RE SORRY?" he bellowed, causing the ceiling to shake. "YOU'RE ONLY SORRY THAT YOU SAW WHAT YOU SAW!" he accused, to which he threw another chair across the room.

Christine cried out and turned on her heel to flee. As she did so she could hear the Phantom's thunderous voice shout, "GET OUT! GET OUT!"

She ran; ran through the darkness, not caring what she encountered along the way, just having to leave. She gasped when she felt something hard, and almost screamed when she felt it move.

"GYSPY GIRL!"

Christine looked up to see the large hunchback grinning at her. "I f-f-found her!" he shouted down the tunnels. "She's h-h-h-here!"

Suzette was there in a matter of seconds. "My dear!" she panted. "Where h-have you been?" she asked while catching her breath. "We've b-b-been so w-worried!"

Christine looked back and forth between the two figures, and then just over Rudolph's shoulder to see Gustave and Jacque come into view. Behind them she saw…sky? Was it her imagination? No! Gustave and Jacque had just come from outside! They were shutting a door behind them!

"Rudolph!" Gustave cried. "Did you just say you found her?"

"Yes!" he cried out joyfully. "S-s-she's h-here! She's-"

Christine pushed past them and bolted for the door where the other two figures had just emerged. The others were so shocked that they didn't have time to react. "WAIT!" Suzette cried out. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" But Christine didn't look back, she just ran as fast as she could, through the door and out into the Paris night.

They may pursue her, she was unsure, so she didn't look back. Promise or no promise, she couldn't stay there another instant. She was free! But she would not relax, she continued running, down long dark allies and past old crumbling buildings. There was no moon, no stars; Christine could smell rain in the air. Yet she continued running, happy for the dim lit lamps of the Paris streets, happy for the air and wind that was hitting her face. She had no idea where she was, or where exactly she was heading. Paris was still very new to her, and at night, she couldn't tell what street was what, but she ran till her sides throbbed and she was gasping for air. She found herself lost in one of the many back allies of the city, one with a dead end and no indication of where she was.

She knew she should turn around, turn and try to find a way home…or to the police at the very least to try and find her father, but the second she took a step, she cried out as pain shot through her leg. She remembered how she had cut her leg back in the tunnel, and gasped as she saw the trail of blood she had left behind her. She bent down and ripped off a scrap of fabric from her already torn dress and proceeded to dab at the wound and bind it. She winced with pain as tied the knot of her homemade bandage, but all thoughts of pain disappeared when a voice spoke over her.

"Well, well, well…hello pretty thing."

Christine bolted upright at the voice, seeing three large burly looking men standing before her, all smelling of alcohol, cigarettes, and vomit. It was enough to make Christine gag. "Been a long time since I've had a woman," one of the men remarked. He had a large gut that hung over his trousers and his clothes reeked of sweat and urine. It was understandable why a woman hadn't gone near him for quite some time.

"Come with us pretty," another man belched, reaching out for her. Christine stepped back, lifting her eyes skyward and wondering why all these horrible things were occurring in one night. The man burped again and took a few more steps towards her. "Come on, we can go somewhere quiet…we'll pay you well."

The other two snickered at the comment, while Christine stared wide eyed at them. They thought her a prostitute? She knew she was dirty and her dress was torn, but she did not think she looked like a lady of the night from that alone!

"I'm not for sale," Christine hissed. Unfortunately they were blocking the only way out of the ally and when the three of them stood side by side, it was like standing in front of a brick wall. She was trapped and she knew it…she just couldn't show that she knew it.

One of the men frowned at her statement. "Our money is just as good as any other man's," he grumbled. "Come on…been a long night, and we want some company."

"No," Christine stated again, her jaw set, her eyes steady, while her mind was screaming for help. She could pretend to be what they thought she was, pretend so that they would let her pass, thinking she was leading them back to her bordello, and then make a run for it. She was sure she could outrun three drunken over-weight louts, but her leg wouldn't carry her far, the very idea of running caused it to throb with pain. Also, from the look of these men, Christine had a feeling they could care less of where everything took place. They probably expected her to service them right there in that ally, which would explain the mud on their clothes and the stench of urine that perfumed them. While they may not be able to run fast, she knew they could still be dangerous and she had to play things very carefully.

"No?" one of them growled. "Why not? You saying that Joseph Bouquet ain't good enough for you?"

Joseph Bouquet…why did that name sound so familiar? Suddenly, the man lunged for her and Christine easily twirled out of his reach, and then it all dawned on her. This was the same man that had lunged at her back stage at the Opera House on that first day! And apparently Joseph hadn't forgotten the incident either, for his eyes went wide with realization after he recovered himself from his unsuccessful attempt of grabbing the girl.

"You…" he whispered, looking at Christine, the realization dawning more and more. There was a wild look in his eyes and Christine swallowed a growing lump in her throat. No amount of twirling would help her for long. "You…you cost me my job," he accused.

Christine stood with her chin up. "You cost yourself your own job, all I did was step out of the waAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" She cried out as suddenly a different man lunged at her and caught her around the middle, holding her wriggling and struggling body against his over-grown beer gut.

"I got her Joseph! I have her! And…" he grunted as she continued struggling against him. "She's quite a hellcat, this one!" he laughed.

"LET ME GO AT ONCE!" she screamed. "RELEASE ME! HELP! HELP!"

"Cover her mouth with something!" Joseph hissed to the man holding her. "We don't want all of Paris coming!" Christine continued screaming even after the man who had caught her placed a large disgusting hand over her mouth. She gagged as she could smell and taste the filth from his body.

"You know this girl?" the third man of the group asked Joseph. "She's not a prostitute?"

Joseph shrugged his shoulders. "All women are whores, that's my motto in life. Whores to be used whenever you need one," he chuckled. Christine's eyes narrowed with hate at the man's words. She kept wriggling and squirming against her captor who was now showing signs of struggle with holding onto her.

"God almighty, she's a hellcat!" the man who was holding her grunted. "Careful Joseph, she may lash out."

Joseph Bouquet spit on the ground, a sign that he had no worries whatsoever. "Let's open this pretty package!" the other man cried out, reaching for Christine's dress. Christine struggled even harder when she realized the man's intentions.

"Ah!" cried out the one holding her. "Stop it!" he ordered, although she continued to struggle. "It felt nice having her delicious rump wriggle against me, but now it's hard to hold onto her!"

"Shut up," Joseph growled, and pushed the other man out of the way. "I'll unwrap this flower…and I get her first."

"No fair!" protested his third companion. "The last time we had a woman, you had her first! She was too tired when she got to me!" Joseph simply grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and glared at him. The man quickly relented. "Fine, you can have her first," he whimpered cowardly.

Christine's eyes went wide when she saw the evil smirk on the former stagehand as he reached out and much to her horror, grabbed both sides of her dress and ripped it apart, leaving her only in her corset and undergarments. She screamed in protest beneath the hand that covered her mouth, not believing this was actually happening. She was better off with the Phantom.

"Mmmm…pretty," Joseph grinned, eyeing her breasts from behind the pale white fabric that covered them. His large grubby hand reached out to touch her, and Christine summoned up all her strength, before swinging her leg out and kicking him HARD in the groin, and then when he dropped to his knees, in the chin. The man holding her cried out Joseph's name, and at that point, Christine bit down HARD on the man's hand, causing him to yowl in pain. His blood dripped from her mouth, and she wriggled herself loose from his grip. Before the other man could advance upon her, Christine pushed the now howling man towards the other, and the two ran into each other, causing them both to fall down. Without another look, she took off, wincing at the pain in her leg, but fighting through it, she just had to get out of the ally, she just-

"AAAAAH!" she screamed as she felt a hand enclose her ankle and pull her down to the muddy ground. Joseph Bouquet, who was still gripping his balls in one hand, had reached out and grabbed her ankle, twisting it in just a way that would cause her to fall, and sprain herself. She would not be running now.

"You little BITCH!" he spat, his large body flopping on top of hers. "I'll teach you! I'll show you!" Christine screamed and cried, her face now wet with tears as she could feel his dirty hands reaching into her undergarments, seeking out her legs which she kept tightly shut. "You'll like this, I promise you that," he grinned wickedly, his disgusting mouth coming down on hers. Christine was able to move her head away just in time, and she screamed as she felt his tongue and lips on her skin. She wriggled, squirmed, kicked, bit, scratched, whatever she could do to free herself. "Hold her down, damn it!" Joseph yelled to one of his friends. "And shut up!" he shouted, shaking Christine roughly, before raising his arm to backhand her.

Christine prepared herself to feel the stinging fire spread across her cheek, but it never came. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" Her eyes flew open at the sound of one of Joseph's friends whimpering in fear, and standing just over her, she saw the Phantom, gripping Joseph's fist in his large leather clad hand.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," he growled dangerously.

Joseph stared up at the dark being before him, his eyes wide in both horror and shock. He told the Phantom's tales to frighten the ballet girls, but…he never truly believed the ghost stories. Yet now, as he gazed up at the man clad in black, with a cape billowing around his body, and his face covered in the shadows, save for the outline of a pale mask, he knew…he knew this was the infamous Phantom of the Opera. The Angel of Death himself.

The man who had his hand bitten rose and with a shout charged at the Phantom, but he easily side stepped the man, who went headfirst into a pile of garbage. The other man rose and attacked, but Erik whirled around before lashing out with his leg, kicking the man in the gut, causing him to double-over, and then proceeding to elbow him hard in the spine.

With those two on the ground groaning in pain, Erik then turned his attention on Joseph Bouquet, who was still on top of the costume girl. "If you release her now, I'll let you and your friends live…if you do not…well, you know the stories Bouquet."

Joseph Bouquet stared up at the Phantom, his mouth open but no sound coming forth. However, a grin slowly spread across his features as he saw one of his friends rise up slowly behind the Phantom, holding a long shard of wood in his hand, aiming it at Erik's head. "I don't take orders from a masked freak," Joseph spat.

Erik sighed. "You just did a very stupid thing, monsieur."

Erik's senses were keen, like a wolf, and he bent just in time as the man swung at him with the wood. He kicked the man hard in the balls, then took the wood from his hands and used it as a club against him, hitting him hard across the face with it. Joseph stared in horror and turned his attentions to his other friend who was still groaning on the ground. "DON'T JUST SIT THERE! FIGHT THE BASTARD!"

Christine took this opportunity to bite down on his hand, causing him to yowl in pain and remove his filthy body just somewhat off her. With all her strength, she kicked her knee up which made contact with Joseph's groin, before screaming at Erik, "BEHIND YOU!"

Erik whirled around at that second to escape the lunge caused by Joseph's other friend, who was holding a knife. The blade did however make contact with Erik's cape, tearing a large hole in it. He growled and grabbed hold of the man's hand, twisting it till he dropped the blade. "I love this cape," he hissed, before kicking the man with his boot, sending him backwards into a wall.

Yet once again, as soon as he was done fighting one man, the other recovered and leapt to his feet, attacking Erik again, this time throwing his whole body on top of the Phantom's. Erik was not prepared for this attack, and therefore taken by surprise by the burly man's strength. He winced, but did not cry out in pain as he felt the man punch his lower back. He threw his cape off then and wrapped it tightly around the man's head, causing him to throw blind punches in the air, to which Erik kicked the man hard in his left shin, before punching him even harder in the jaw.

Joseph was now recovered and grabbed Christine by her hair, causing her to cry out painfully as he lifted her off the ground. "YOU!" he shouted at the Phantom. Erik turned around warily, seeing Joseph hold the girl tightly in one arm, while the other revealed a pistol to which he now held to her head.

Christine who had been struggling stopped as she felt the cold metal of the pistol touch her temple. "DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP!" Joseph ordered, thrusting the pistol hard against Christine. "OR I'LL BLOW HER BRAINS ALL ACROSS THIS ALLY!"

Erik did not say a word, he simply faced Joseph head on, his back to his other enemies, knowing he was vulnerable to whatever violence they wished to send his way. He stretched his arms out from his sides, revealing a sword that hung from his right hip. "PUT THAT ON THE GROUND!" Joseph ordered, indicating to Erik's sword. Erik did not make a move, but calmly, removed the sword and, with excruciating slowness, placed it on the ground.

What game was he playing? Christine had a feeling he knew what he was doing, or at least she hoped he did. She wasn't sure what was going to happen to her, and she was surprised the Phantom had followed her all this way. Why was he risking his life for hers? She had unmasked and humiliated him, she would have thought that of all people, he would take pleasure to see her death. Well, after Carlotta. But why was he doing this…did he truly want to save her life? Or did he simply want to kill these men now…and then her later?

"Now…" Joseph said, trying to sound calm, but anyone could tell he truly wasn't. "You don't move…you let me go…and I won't hurt the girl," he explained, backing down the ally with Christine still held tightly to him.

"Let the girl go first," Erik ordered.

"SHE COMES WITH ME!" Joseph shouted, before quickly calming himself. "When I know you're not following me…then I'll release her…but right now, she comes with me."

"No," Erik whispered, shaking his head. "That's not how it works." Christine gasped as she watched him take a step towards them.

"STOP RIGHT THERE OR I WILL SHOOT HER!"

Erik paused…and then took another step.

"I MEAN IT!"

Christine squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the hot tears pierce her skin as they ran down her face.

"Why not point that gun at me Bouquet?" Erik reasoned. "Killing me will actually solve all your problems."

Christine's eyes flew open. Was he serious?

Joseph Bouquet stared at the Phantom in shock. Erik took another step closer. "After all, it will answer that question of whether the Phantom of the Opera is truly a ghost…or a man." He took another step. "And think of the fame, Bouquet. The fame you'll receive as the man who killed the horrific Phantom." He took another step.

Joseph shook his head. "This girl means something to you!" he accused.

"Well she is amusing, after all you lost your job because of her."

"SHUT UP!" Joseph shouted, now aiming the pistol at Erik.

And that was what he wanted. In a flash, Erik's foot stomped down on top of the handle of the sword in which he laid on the ground, causing the blade to leap in the air, and before Bouquet could react to what was happening, Erik gripped the sword and lashed out, cutting off Joseph's hand that held the pistol, the blood spewing out like a fountain and splattering Joseph in the face.

"MY GOD!" he screamed, falling to the mud and gripping his lifeless bleeding arm to his body. "MY GOD!"

Christine stared in shock at what had just happened, her own face and body splattered with Joseph's blood. She gasped when she saw Joseph's friends rise to their feet, each groaning in pain, each clutching the bleeding wounds on their bodies, but nothing they had compared to what Joseph was suffering. Erik turned immediately and lifted his sword at them. "Leave now," he growled. "I'm not normally this forgiving…in fact I never am…so I advise you to take this rare opportunity, and flee for your lives." he growled, before adding, "and don't bother coming back for your friend."

The two men didn't need to be told twice. They fled the ally with their tails between their legs, like the cowardly dogs that they were. Joseph was still wailing like a banshee on the ground. He reached out and grabbed his now dismembered hand, cradling it like a mother would cradle a baby. He removed the pistol from the now lifeless fingers, and gazed up at Erik in rage. Suddenly, his sobs turned to a cry of fury and he lifted the pistol to Erik's head.

"NO!" Christine screamed, grabbing Joseph Bouquet's head and tugging hard on his hair, causing him to reel back, but it was too late. The pistol had fired its shot.

Erik whirled around at the sound of Christine's scream. When he saw what Bouquet was doing, he wasted no time, took the sword and slashed at the former stagehand's throat, causing his life's blood to spill out over chest. The pistol had been fired, but the bullet did not make the contact it had intended. Christine quickly released the gurgling Joseph, stepping away as she watched him convulse and his life leave his body, till he lay still like a rock in the mud.

It was raining. Christine wasn't sure when it had started, but her hair was sticking to her face and she could feel what was left of her clothes clinging to her body like paper. She lifted her eyes then to the Phantom, not sure what to say or do, but gasped when she saw him fall to his knees before her.

"Good God, w-w-what is it?" she asked, going to his side in an instant. She caught him before he crumbled to the ground, her arm going around his broad shoulders, trying to prop him up as best she could.

His breathing was heavy, ragged almost. He was groaning in pain, and…blood. There was blood on the white linen shirt he wore. She had thought it was Joseph Bouquet's blood, but no…it was coming from somewhere on him!

She pushed back his shirt, gasping in horror at finding the source of the blood. The bullet hadn't missed him like she had thought. Joseph was aiming at the Phantom's head, but instead, the bullet had hit him in the chest, just below the shoulder. Christine's clothes were soaked and caked with mud, they would do no good for a bandage. She then began to rip the sleeve off his shirt and pressed it against his chest. "You need to hold this there," she instructed. "Please…you need to hold this over your wound…you…monsieur? MONSIEUR!" His eyes had rolled back and he lay lifeless in her arms.

She wasted no time but bent her head over his chest. Yes, she could still hear a heartbeat, although it was very faint. She had no idea where she would be able to find a doctor; she wasn't even sure where she was! No, the only option was to take him back to the Opera House. True, she knew she was free and could run away from this place and pretend nothing had happened…but she refused to lower herself to such selfishness. She would not let a man who had risked his life for hers, die in the mud. She looked all around her and thanked the Lord when she spotted several barrels of garbage lying on top of an old wheelbarrow. She pushed the barrels away and then used what strength she could to lift the Phantom onto the wheelbarrow. After she was sure he was secure, she draped his torn cape across his body, then proceeded to move him out of the ally and back to the Opera House. She only prayed that she would find it before her rescuer perished.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik awakes, only to argue with his guardian angel. Meanwhile, Raoul's villainy sinks to a lower level as he begins planning ways to lure Christine...

_**Plans** _

He was dead.

He had to be. He felt nothing; his body was lighter than air. All he could see was blackness, a thick blackness that enveloped his entire body.

And yet he could hear voices. Angels? No, he would never be in a place where there were angels. God had abandoned him long ago, and he wasn't sure if the devil would have him either.

Then he felt the pain. It shot through his body like lightening; a searing wrenching pain that caused him to hiss and groan in agony.

The voices that were mere murmurs came to a stop, then he heard the sound of feet shuffling around him and felt something cold touch his forehead. He was alive? Impossible! And yet his eyes began to flutter ever so softly and he could see the dim candlelight shining through the darkness.

Where was he? He heard one voice...a strange voice, a woman's voice, call out to someone. He felt a small soft hand touch his wrist, then move to his forehead to lift the cool object and brush it across his cheeks.

His cheeks! His face was exposed! His mask was gone!

Erik bolted upright to Christine's great surprise, his eyes wide and crazed, his muscles tense, and his right hand quickly moving to cover his exposed cheek.

"WHERE'S MY MASK?"

"Calm down, please-"

"GIVE ME MY DAMN MASK! GIVE IT TO ME NOW!"

Christine stood her ground despite every fiber of her being telling her to flee. She had seen the wrath of this man, it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. He could kill her if he wished it, and she knew there was a delicate strand between sanity and madness with him. She was walking that strand and it was in danger of breaking.

"Please, you must lie down, the bandage is still fresh, it could break-"

Erik released his scarred face and grasped her wrist in a powerful death-like grip. "Give...me...my...mask!" he hissed between each word, his amber eyes like molten lava, burning through her own.

He twisted her wrist ever so slightly to show her he meant business. Christine bit her lip in an attempt to show him she didn't feel the pain he was causing her. Reasoning was going to be impossible. "Gustave!" she called out. The man with the large arms and the clubbed feet appeared from the other side of the room. He had retreated there when he heard Erik's angry command. "Give your master his mask," she told him.

Gustave looked at Christine for a long moment then glanced at his master. A few hours ago Christine had stormed through one of the Opera House's secret entrances with Erik bleeding in a wheelbarrow. She announced what had happened and that he needed medical attention right away. However, calling for a doctor was out of the question, as Christine soon learned after Jacque fled down one of the dark passages and Rudolph calmed down from his panicking. She and the others had to take things into their own hands; remove the bullet, stitch up the wound, and somehow bring his fever down. To do this, his shirt and mask had to be removed. "It's alright Gustave," Christine whispered.

Gustave shuffled forward and held the mask out to his master. Erik moved quickly, grabbing the mask and then shoving Gustave aside. "NEVER ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN AGAIN!" he roared at the trembling man.

"There's no need for that!" Christine shouted in Gustave's defense.

Erik turned to the girl, his eyes wide with shock at the tone of her voice. Who did she think she was? SHE WAS HIS PRISONER! SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO-

A burst of pain split through his chest and he found himself collapsing back against the plush Persian pillows on his bed. "See? You need to calm yourself or you're going to make it worse!" Christine scolded, gently dabbing at the bandage which was beginning to seep blood again. "Gustave, find Suzette and tell her I need fresh bandages." The man with the clubbed feet nodded his head and quickly shuffled his way out of the room.

Erik winced with pain and moved his hand to his chest. "W-w-w-what's...w-w-what's happened to me?"

Christine bit her lip and gently brought a cool wet cloth to Erik's chest to dab at the blood. "You don't remember?"

Erik growled his frustration. "Now if I did, do you think I would be asking you such a question?" he barked, before hissing in a breath as the pain swept his chest again. "I...I remember you running away!" he groaned.

Christine ignored his sarcasm. "You were shot-"

"What?" Erik stared at Christine in disbelief. He had no memory of being shot! When did this happen? And then...slowly, like ripples in a pool, it came back to him. The men he fought in the ally, Joseph Bouquet being one of them. He had the girl by the hair, threatening to kill her. He had a pistol, and Erik remembered "removing" the pistol from Bouquet the only way he knew best. But everything after that...was darkness.

"He...he tried to kill you," Christine explained, gently dabbing at the wound. "He missed just barely."

Erik groaned as she dabbed at the blood. "Seems to me he was right on target."

"You're very lucky," Christine whispered. "The bullet didn't hit your lungs or your heart."

"Bravo to me," he muttered. "Perhaps it was not luck...simply the fact that Bouquet is a very bad shot–AHHH!" he roared as she dabbed somewhat too roughly over his wound. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Christine jumped at the change of his tone, however her feelings towards the Phantom had changed since he first took her prisoner. Oh she despised him still, that had not changed, but her fear of him had melted, and now she found that he was not the fearsome creature he pretended to be, simply a spoiled child who threw great tantrums when he did not have his way, be that with the opera itself, or anything. "I'm trying to help you," she hissed at him, feeling her patience waste away.

"Help me?" he asked menacingly. "I do not recall asking for your help...and it rather feels like you're trying TO KILL ME!" He collapsed back against the pillows as the pain seared through his body, sucking in sharp breaths and gritting his teeth.

"You need to lie still!" she ordered. "You already broke the previous stitches, and I've never sewn flesh together before, so they aren't the strongest. Please, just lie still." Erik watched her through narrow slits as he saw her prepare a needle, burning the tip in a candle flame before lacing thread through it.

"You will keep that thing away from me," he growled low and deep.

Christine was not intimated at all. "Hold still; the sooner you let me do this, the sooner it will be over and I can leave you in peace."

She moved to pierce the area of the wound, but Erik would have none of it. He was wriggling away from her like a child who didn't want his medicine, and when she finally was able to make contact, he gave a roar as he felt the needle prick his already painful wound. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!"

That was it; her patience was gone. He wanted a fight? He was going to get one. "Perhaps if you listened to me it wouldn't HURT!"

His eyes widened for a moment, shocked that not only had she raised her voice to him, but that she was not intimated by him at all. "Need I remind you..." he growled. "That if you had not run away...this whole thing would not have happened?"

Christine's eyes went wide at his accusation. Was he truly blaming this whole ordeal on her? "Perhaps if you hadn't thrown a chair at my head I wouldn't have run away!" she snapped.

"WELL YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN IN MY CHAMBERS, LET ALONE REMOVE MY MASK!"

"DO NOT BLAME ME FOR THAT! THIS WHOLE THING COULD HAVE BEEN TRULY AVOIDED IF YOU HADN'T TAKEN ME PRISONER!"

"I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN FORCED TO TAKE YOU PRISONER IF YOU HADN'T COME BELOW THE OPERA HOUSE IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"Both of you stop it at once!"

Christine and Erik turned to see Suzette standing in the entryway of the bedchamber, holding a basket full of bandages and clean scraps of cloth. Rudolph stood just behind her, hovering in the shadows, holding a large hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound. It appeared he was trying to stifle some giggles.

"Honestly, the two of you, behaving like children!" Suzette scolded, coming around Erik's bedside and handing the basket to Christine, who was now a deep shade of red. Erik simply laid there, sulking and biting his lip as he felt Suzette tut at him before proceeding to sew up the wound that Christine had begun. "There," she said with satisfaction after she finished her work. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" she asked her master. Erik didn't say a word, he simply frowned heavenward.

"I'll dress the wound," Christine whispered, removing a clean bandage from the basket. She glanced at Erik who's eyes continued to look elsewhere. What was he thinking? Was he embarrassed by this whole incident? After all, the infamous Phantom of the Opera now did not come across as frightening as he had before. Did he truly blame her for all this? Christine quickly shook her head, wondering why she found herself caring about such things.

Suzette's voice broke Christine's thoughts. "I'll make you some tea, Master, and perhaps some soup?"

"No, no tea and no soup!" Erik growled. "I'm not a child to be coddled! Just...get out, all of you..."

Suzette rolled her eyes and turned, tugging on Rudolph's large hand. Christine moved to finish the bandage, but Erik began to fidget beneath her small fingers. "I told you to leave, I want to be left alone!"

"I'll leave you as soon as I'm finished with this," she whispered, gathering any patience she could find.

Erik groaned and continued to sulk. "Why?" he finally asked.

Christine was thrown by his question and looked at him, feeling extremely confused. "Why what?"

He groaned with exasperation. "Why are you doing this? Why did you bring me back here? If I recall, you had escaped, was that not your plan?" He didn't need an answer, he knew that was her intention. "You were free, and after the...incident, shall we say, you were still free...yet you brought me back here; why? I do not understand and I demand an answer!" he growled, pounding one of his fists hard on the mattress.

Christine sighed and eased herself away from him, the wound now properly dressed with a new clean bandage. "You saved my life," she whispered. "I was...simply returning the favor."

Erik rolled his eyes and made a sound of great disdain. "Do not flatter yourself my dear," he scoffed. "I am no prince and this is no fairy tale; I merely pursued you because I can't take the risk of you telling others about my lair. If it were just me, I wouldn't care...but it's not just me, there are others that depend on me to keep them safe, and I will not have some...country chit ruin our lives!"

His words did the trick; Erik could tell that the sting of his tongue had indeed affected the costume girl. There were tears pooling in her eyes, he could see them shimmering in the candlelight, and for a brief moment, he felt the pangs of regret for what he had said. Somewhere, deep within his chest, he felt a pang squeeze at him and fill him with guilt. He shook his head, believing it to be his recent wound.

Christine refused to cry before him; she was not going to show him that he had any power over her, especially her emotions. "I share your opinion sir," she said icily, lifting her chin in defiance. "Believe me, I had no 'romantic notions' with your so-called rescue; you are far from being a prince, monsieur," she spat. She rose to her feet and quickly turned on her heel to leave the chamber at once.

"Just one moment!" he shouted.

Christine didn't know why, but she stopped, her back facing him. "Explain to me why you felt the so-called need to remove my mask...again," he muttered. "Did you want a better look at the monster beneath? Had not your eyes received a good enough look earlier?"

His tone was dripping with sarcasm, and while she did not turn to see him, she could picture a smirk on his face. If she could see it, she would march over to him and slap it right off. "I had to remove your mask so I could tend to the fever that was raging within you," she explained. There was silence again between them, and once again, Erik felt that odd feeling stir within him. He opened his mouth to say something, but her words took him by surprise. "And the true reason I brought you back was the same reason in which you pursued me," she turned to face him, the tears once again shining in her eyes. "Your servants, if that is what they are to you, have been the only ones who have shown me any ounce of kindness or understanding since I've been brought here," she spat. "I know that they depend on you for their safety, and truly, it was them that filled my mind when I brought you back here," she lied. Here words held some truth, she had thought of the Phantom's servants, if that was what they were to him. Yet they were not the only ones that filled her head when she was rushing him back to the Opera House.

Erik felt the feeling in his chest harden to ice at her words. He didn't know why he was upset, but he was. "Do not think about trying to escape again," he warned. "You were lucky last time that you weren't killed in one of my tunnels."

Christine lifted her chin once more before turning on her heel and leaving. "Say what you will...but I've already proven monsieur that no cage you create can hold me if I so wish it."

* * *

Raoul was rubbing the bridge of his nose, preparing himself as his carriage slowly pulled up to the Paris Opera House. This was the last place he wanted to be.

His head was still pounding from the previous night's antics, and he knew once he set foot inside the damn place he would hear nothing but complaints and worries. It was customary, the day after an opera, for the managers to beg their most powerful patron to come and talk about the previous evening. Truth be told, the previous evening from a theatrical standpoint, had been a disaster. Raoul was all too aware of this as several reviews in the morning paper did not feel the need to be tactful or kind. However, what did their reviews matter? The opening gala had been a success as far as he was concerned; the place had sold out, as were the next several operas. Besides, this was not the first time Carlotta had performed badly, and still the tickets sold.

No, he knew all too well what would be on the managers lips the second they saw him, and his blood boiled at the very thought...

...the damn Phantom of the Opera.

Raoul knew that people who worked in theater were a superstitious sort. He knew that before she performed, Carlotta had a ritual she had to go through in order to prepare herself, even if it meant delaying the curtain from going up. Many of these superstitions were welcomed by the Vicomte; it was one way to lure unsuspecting ballet and chorus girls into his bed. But this Phantom...of all the foolish things in the world to believe in...this Phantom irritated him beyond anything else.

For as long as Raoul could remember, there were notes that the supposed Phantom had written, full of demands and directions for how the Opera House should be run. They were a complete joke of course, but they infuriated the Vicomte de Chagny like nothing else. Why? Because Raoul liked having complete control of everything in his life; his fortune, his women, and his business ventures. The Opera House was one of his largest business ventures, and he would see it reach a success that no one thought possible. And that success would be entirely his own.

The so-called Phantom of the Opera represented someone who was outside his control, a nemesis that threatened the control he had over the Paris Opera House. How dare anyone else attempt to have power over his theater! Raoul vowed that he would personally squash whoever was behind the mysterious "Phantom" notes like a roach beneath his boot.

"MONSIEUR VICOMTE!" exclaimed both Firmin and Andre as Raoul entered their office. Just as he had suspected, they began to fill his ears with worries and concerns over the recent reviews in the morning papers, as well as inform him about the Phantom's threats and demands in their most recent letter.

Carlotta was there as well, with Piangi by her side attempting to win the heart she did not possess. She was too angry by the morning reviews to even attempt flirting with him. Raoul knew that this would mean a much "longer" session in her dressing room in order to calm the vain prima donna down. What used to be pleasure was beginning to become a chore.

"AND THAT DAMN VIOLINIST! THIS IS ALL HIS FAULT! DID I NOT TELL YOU I NEED A VIOLIN TO PLAY BESIDE ME DURING THAT PARTICULAR SOLO? IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO FOLLOW MY NOTES WITHOUT IT!" Carlotta screamed at the managers, who simply stared at her wide-eyed.

"Senora, we tried to explain to you last night-"

"You two are idiots!" Piangi snorted. "You run this theater do you not? You should have had a substitute at the very least for my beautiful Cara-"

"Oh do shut up Ubaldo!" Carlotta screeched.

Raoul rolled his eyes and removed the note from Andre's hand and began to tear it up into little pieces, which caused the whole office to fall silent.

"D-d-do you think...t-t-that's wise monsieur?" Andre stammered, staring at the pieces of paper that fell to the floor.

"Andre," Raoul groaned, "how many times have I told you both that THERE IS NO PHANTOM!" the two managers jumped from the Vicomte's sudden change of tone, which even surprised Raoul himself, who normally kept a cool facade in his business matters. He ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, smoothing it back and appearing calm and collected as he normally did. "From now on...we are going to treat these letters as they should have always been treated...as empty threats."

Firmin paled at the Vicomte's words. "Empty threats? Monsieur, say what you will, but...well...strange things have occurred around here to...well...let us just say that it is not that difficult to believe that this place very well could be haunted-"

"Firmin," Raoul groaned, "you are a man in his mid fifties, I believe you are a little old to be terrified of ghost stories." Firmin turned a dark shade of pink before shutting his mouth and keeping it that way. Raoul eyed both managers carefully to see that they would listen closely. "I want all letters by this supposed Phantom to be brought to me, and IGNORED, gentlemen, from now on."

"But-"

"IGNORED, gentlemen..." Raoul repeated once more. The two managers glanced at one another and slowly nodded their heads in reluctant agreement.

Carlotta rolled her eyes dramatically. "To hell with that! I need a new costume girl!"

Raoul's attention changed immediately. "What do you mean, you need a new costume girl?" he demanded.

Carlotta was shocked by his question at first, then pouted when she realized his sudden interest. "That girl I had before? I fired her!" she couldn't help but smile in triumph, especially as she watched Raoul pale before her. That should teach him, she thought.

"WHAT?" Raoul immediately calmed himself after taking a deep breath. Carlotta stared at him with both shock and disgust. She knew all along that he wanted the little chit for his own "amusement". "Why did you fire her, my dear?" he knew he had to sweeten the lady. "Did she offend you my dear? Was she unkind to my star?"

That did some of the trick, for Carlotta began to melt somewhat to his words. However, she kept a wary eye. "She struck me!" she pouted. "I have been able to cover up the bruise with powder, but...the ungrateful toad struck me! She is a violent little witch! I had to get rid of her!"

Raoul had to summon all the will power he could in order to not burst out laughing at the thought of someone, especially someone as small as the costume girl, hitting Carlotta hard enough that it would leave a bruise. That girl had done what he only dreamt about doing. "Well you did the right thing," he reassured the soprano, although he wanted to ring her neck for letting the beauty escape him. He was going to have her, one way or another, he had never failed in any conquest.

"Tell me, where is the girl now?" he inquired. Carlotta, who was leaning against the Vicomte's chest and pretending to sob for the pains she had to go through in life, snapped her head up at Raoul's words. However, before she opened her mouth to let out an ear-splitting shout, he quickly added, "I think any person that dares harm a lovely hair on your beautiful golden head should be locked away! The girl is obviously mad, not to mention jealous of course," Raoul lied, smiling to himself at the success he was having on the prima donna. "Firmin! Andre! How could you both hire such a hellion?" he angrily demanded.

Both managers were at a loss for words, but that didn't matter, he was determined to carry on his charade long enough to discover the whereabouts of the delicious costume girl. "I am going to pay a visit this very afternoon to her and demand that she not only apologize to our dear star, but also send her to the nearest asylum, where she should have been all this time!"

Carlotta squealed happily and threw her arms around the handsome Vicomte. Piangi snorted his disgust from a corner while Firmin and Andre exchanged weary glances. "We...we do not know where Daae and his daughter live," they admitted. "You'll have to ask Madame Giry–she helped them find the flat."

Raoul groaned at the thought of approaching Madame Giry with such a question, but it was the only way to learn where Christine was. He left the office then in pursuit of the ballet mistress, only discover her waiting for him just around the corner.

"Good morning monsieur," she greeted coldly.

"Madame Giry," he replied, just as coldly, with a slight nod of his head.

"I understand you wish to ask me a question?"

Raoul stared at the woman in disbelief. Had she been eavesdropping? Before he could say anything she was already answering his question. "You will not find her at the apartment she and her father had occupied since coming to Paris. She is gone...most likely both she and her father have left Paris and are traveling back to the countryside." This was all a lie of course, Madame Giry had no idea where Christine was. After the incident with Erik the night before, she raced to the Daae residence in hopes to find Christine, but the girl was nowhere to be found. She had told Christine to return home and wait for her, but the girl had not listened, or...

She did not want to think the alternative. Yet she was not going to reveal any of this to the Vicomte.

"I'm sorry monsieur, I'm afraid you...missed your opportunity."

Raoul scowled at the woman. Of all the people in this company, she was the one he despised most of all. Once upon a time he had considered making her daughter one of his conquests, yet the woman proved to be a cobra waiting to snap; no woman, no matter how beautiful, was worth pursuing with such a mother.

"Thank you for your...information, madam," Raoul replied through clipped lips. He gave a small bow then turned on his heel, not bothering to say anything further to either the managers or Carlotta who were calling out to him as he walked out the doors of the Opera House.

He got into his carriage, barked for the driver to return him to his town house at once, and settled back for a long sulk. He wasn't entirely sure why, normally Raoul did not upset himself over a woman this much. Paris was filled with beautiful women, many who others had claimed to be utterly unattainable, but Raoul had proved those voices wrong. Nothing had stopped him from a conquest, nothing. And the ones that proved to be difficult were not worth his time, such as the ballet mistress' daughter. But this girl...it was becoming an obsession almost.

No woman...had ever refused him. He began to grind his teeth at the memory of Mademoiselle Daae walking away from him after accusing him of grossly insulting her. The little wench! She should be grateful that a man like himself took notice of a penniless country-born ingrate on the verge of spinster-hood, like herself! No...he would have her, make no mistake about that. And he would have her, whether she came willingly to him or not.

The carriage pulled up to the Vicomte's fashionable town house, but his frown deepened when he saw a policeman waiting at the entrance. "Beg your pardon Monsieur Vicomte, but we have an urgent matter that we need to discuss with you right away."

Raoul's already deep frown deepened even more. He did not want his servants spreading idle gossip about, nor did he wish to give this man the proper time he apparently wished to have in Raoul's presence. So, Raoul stepped back inside his carriage and invited the inspector inside.

"What do you want inspector?" Raoul groaned, feeling a headache coming on.

"I am Chief Inspector LeDue, and last night, an old man covered in dirt and smelling like sewage, stormed into one of our posts and started screaming about a monster kidnapping his one and only daughter."

Raoul's brow furrowed at the inspector's tale. This was sounding strangely familiar to him. "Well, the man was obviously mad," LeDue continued, "and we had no choice but to lock him away, at least for the night; after all, we could not have such a lunatic roaming the streets and upsetting people!"

"Quite right," Raoul muttered. "I beg your pardon inspector, but do you mind explaining what any of this has to do with me?"

LeDue sighed and nodded his head. "Well, you see monsieur, the man started raving that he had approached you last night! That he had gone into your club, and begged for your help! Then he started raving about how he was a violinist for the Paris Opera House, and that his daughter was a costume girl-"

"Costume girl?" Raoul interrupted. Now he remembered.

Daae. The old man that burst into his club last night after Raoul had already had several drinks, and hysterically started screaming about his daughter being kidnapped by the Phantom of the Opera. Utter nonsense of course...but it was a connection to the girl.

"Monsieur?" Raoul shook his head and came back to the present when he realized LeDue was talking to him. "Monsieur...do you know this man? Naturally I assumed he was simply crazed, but...our post received several complaints from that particular club about a homeless beggar upsetting several patrons, not to mention the owners. And...well, I just wanted to know, monsieur, if this was that man, and if you wished to file any complaints of your own."

Raoul opened his mouth to speak, but then quickly closed it. A plan...a plan was brewing.

"You say...that the man is in your custody at the moment?"

LeDue's brow furrowed with confusion, but he nodded his head. "Yes, we still have him in our custody. Outside of disturbing the peace, the man has committed no crime, however we plan to contact the nearest asylum and have him delivered-"

"No..." Raoul interrupted. "Do not send him away...just yet."

"But monsieur, we can not hold him for a lengthy period of time, he belongs in an asylum! The man is clearly-"

"Insane? Yes, quite right," Raoul muttered. "But...truth be, I know the man, yes, I know him."

LeDue's eyes widened in amazement. "You do monsieur? You know who he is?"

"I know of him," Raoul explained. "And...I know the man's daughter. Now, as you have obviously seen, the man is quite mad, his daughter has not been kidnapped by a monster...she is simply missing at the moment, nothing to worry about of course," Raoul quickly explained before LeDue could respond to this piece of news. "She is a fickle sort of girl...always scampering off with handsome men of large fortunes, no doubt hoping some man will see past her...disabilities, you know what I mean."

LeDue simply snorted a reply.

"Now we can't have the old man thrown into an asylum, at least not until the girl comes forward to claim him. However, we are unsure where she is...so allow me to offer my assistance in this matter."

LeDue stared at the Vicomte with great confusion. "I beg your pardon monsieur?"

Raoul could only grin, a wicked grin for the plot he was setting up. "I will find the girl, after all, she is attracted to single men of great wealth, it will only be a matter of time before she falls into my lap," he drawled. "And when I finally have her, I will then explain the horrid news of her mad father, and that if she does not claim him, the dear police will have no alternative but to send him away."

"But monsieur-"

"AND, inspector," Raoul interceded. "I am prepared to make it worth your while..." he snapped his fingers and the coachman appeared. "Tell my valet to contact my banker immediately...I wish to pay 150 franks in gold to the good Chief Inspector for his...pains." The coachman nodded his head and went to deliver the message at once.

LeDue's mouth hung open in shock. "Monsieur Vicomte, I...I can not possibly-"

"This is simply a deposit, of course," Raoul explained. "For every week that the man occupies your jail, I will pay another 100 franks in gold to you."

LeDue was speechless. "And...then when you find the man's daughter, you will bring her here...and if she refuses to claim him..."

"I will see to it personally, that he is delivered to the asylum."

Raoul grinned. LeDue was sold, and the plot was sealed. Christine would have no choice but to play along if she wanted her father back. Yes...she would prove to be a most...willing student to the art of lovemaking, if she truly wished to see her father again. It was all too perfect.

LeDue stepped outside and bid farewell, leaving the pompous Vicomte de Chagny to congratulate himself on a great victory. "I informed your valet," the coachman announced after the inspector left. "He is writing a letter as we speak to your banker and plans to deliver it this very afternoon."

"Good," Raoul said with great satisfaction. "In fact, I feel like celebrating...the best kind of celebrating...take me to Madame Champaign's, I think a few hours of cards, drink, and company, will turn this rather dull day into something memorable."

The coachman nodded his head and prepared to take the Vicomte to his favorite high-society brothel. However, before they set forth, the coachman, who knew his master extremely well and who had been listening to the entire conversation between the Vicomte and the inspector, asked, "begging your pardon monsieur, but...what if the girl does not respond as you hope? What...what if she truly has been kidnapped?"

Raoul rolled his eyes. "She has not been kidnapped, especially from the so-called 'Phantom'," he groaned. "And she will come forth...oh she will...and when she does...I'll be waiting."

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every myth and every legend have a beginning. Christine learns how the Phantom and his companions came to be...

_**Stories** _

_She was a vision; a vision in white with the sun gleaming behind her. He couldn't breathe; she was so beautiful._

_She stood facing him, her face a blur, but the closer he came, the more he could see her face. It radiated light, warmth, beauty, and all the other things he yearned for but would never have. Her arms were stretched out to him, beckoning him to come to her. Her lips moved, but he could not hear her words._

_He moved closer and closer, yet she still seemed far away. He gasped when the vision before him changed. The white flowing gown that she wore began to cling to her body...a beautiful delicious body from what he could tell; full breasts, round hips, luscious thighs...he wanted her unlike anything he had ever wanted before. The vision was changing; the light disappeared and was replaced by rain. The rain was the cause for her gown to cling to her beautiful body. He then noticed that it was not a gown she wore...but a thin slip and corset, which deliciously displayed the flesh beneath. "My angel..." she whispered._

_Angel? Him? Impossible, for in truth, she was the angel...yes, for nothing of this world could be so beautiful. But her smile disappeared; she began to shiver and her expression changed from one of happiness and desire to one of fear. Then her ear piercing scream filled his ears the same moment he heard the gun go off..._

Erik awoke with a start, gasping and drenched in sweat. He looked wildly around him, searching frantically for familiarity and realized that he was in his own bed. It had been a dream...simply a dream. A throbbing pain spread throughout his chest and he glanced down at the bandage. Now he remembered everything...

"Master?" he glanced up at the voice that came from the entryway of his bedchamber. Suzette emerged, holding a small tray in her tiny hands. "Ah! I am pleased that you are awake!" she said with more cheerfulness than Erik could take. "I have brought you some soup to which I added a few herbs...special herbs that I believe will help with the pain."

He ignored her words and threw the blankets off. Suzette frowned at Erik's behavior. She gasped when she realized what he truly had in mind the second she saw him attempt to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. "What do you think you're doing?" she gasped, rushing over to stop him.

"Out of my way woman," he growled, hissing back the pain that was searing through him as he attempted to lean forward.

"Master, you are in no condition to be walking about!" Suzette scolded, attempting to stop him from going any further with her small hunched figure. "Please, you must lie back and relax! It's the only way we can be sure that you'll heal properly!"

Despite the pain that he was feeling, Erik refused to listen. "I…am…not staying…in this bed!" he groaned between jabs of pain. His feet touched the floor, but his legs could not even begin to hold him and he toppled back onto the bed. "DAMNATION!" he swore.

Suzette clucked her tongue and began to draw the blankets up to his chest again. "Master, you have no strength, you've been sleeping the whole day and have not eaten anything since the day before! You are in condition to be-"

"I KNOW VERY WELL WHAT MY CONDITION IS!" he roared, causing Suzette to practically topple over by the power of his voice. He regretted it instantly, as the pain split across his chest. "Please," he groaned, "I…I have an opera to run…"

"All in good time," Suzette grumbled, tucking him back in. This time his only protests came from his mouth. She was grateful he was not attempting to rise again.

"No, I…I must see to things, be sure that…those bloody managers are…are not ruining my theater!" he groaned.

"First things first," Suzette said matter of factly, bringing the tray of soup she had brought to his bedside. "You need to eat in order to regain any strength."

"Later."

"No, now," she insisted with an edge of force to her voice. She was the tiniest one out of all of them, but she was also a force to be reckoned with. "Come now Master, eat up."

She had taken the spoon and was leaning as close as she could with it to his mouth. Erik grumbled his disgust at her gesture. "I can feed myself!" he snapped before snatching the spoon from her tiny fingers. "I may have been shot, but there is nothing wrong with my head!"

Suzette hid the grin that was threatening to spread across her features as she watched Erik gobble down his soup like a greedy child, grumbling here and there while he ate. Yes, he would soon be back to his normal "charming" self. "The herbs will help," she happily whispered. "I have a whole pot brewing, and I intend to have you drain every last drop."

Erik grimaced. "If I am to be confined to this bed for a lengthy period of time, I at least think I have the right to compose, do you not agree?" he grumbled.

Suzette smiled slightly and went to fetch him some parchment and ink while he finished his soup. "There you are Master…and do not fret so, in a few days you'll be as good as new," she added warmly, pleased that he had drained the bowl as she had hoped. "I'll fetch you another bowl at once."

Erik said nothing; he simply put on a sulk. Suzette knew he was grateful for the soup and for the healing herbs especially, but she also knew that when Erik was in a mood, cordiality was the last thing to expect. He watched the hobbled little woman turn to leave, and then called out to her before she was gone.

"Where's the girl?"

Suzette paused, her back still to Erik. "You mean Christine? For that is her-"

"Yes, yes, I know that is her name…this is my theater, is it not?" he muttered. "I know more about her than you may have thought…I know that she's the violinist's daughter, I know that she's from the country, I know that she's rather handy with a needle and thread-"

"Did you know that she has dreams of singing?" Suzette interrupted, turning to face him.

Erik rolled his eyes. "All ladies who come to the Paris Opera House believe themselves to be great singers…and many of them are not, as we have good proof," he growled, thinking about how much he wanted to strangle La Carlotta. "Now, answer my question, where is she?"

"She's with Gustave and Rudolph in the northwest cavern," Suzette explained. Erik simply snorted to the news, however his body seemed to relax somewhat. Suzette nibbled her lip. "I…I've been meaning to ask you Master…what shall we do with her?"

The relaxation was gone. Erik's brow furrowed at the question. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Suzette placed the tray back down and came back to his bedside. "It seems that…that well…Christine will be with us for…quite some time, would you not agree?" He didn't say anything, simply stared right back at Suzette, his expression dark and exasperated. "What I mean to say is…I do not think the costume cages are…suitable shall we say, to a young lady…w-w-would you not agree…master?" she didn't dare look up into his eyes, she could feel them burning through her.

"And did you have any…suggestions, my dear lady?" he asked, his voice dark and dangerously low. His whole world was being turned upside down from one girl.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I…that is, myself, Gustave, and Rudolph, thought…perhaps she could stay in our quarters? We have beds, and…well, I'm sure we can find something suitable for her around here, if not above in the dressing rooms-"

"No," Erik said, his voice dark and unreadable. Suzette was surprised by his quick dismissal of her idea.

"Master…you can't…you can't expect her to simply be locked away! She won't run away again, at least…I don't believe she will, besides, she's injured-"

Erik's eyes went wide at Suzette's news. "What?" he asked, sitting up a little too fast and groaning as he felt the pain hit him like a stone. "What do you mean injured? How?"

"Oh, not badly Master," Suzette quickly explained, although she was surprised by his reaction. He still did not relax. "Her leg was cut, that's all, but I was able to tend it, nothing more than a scratch I assure you."

Erik relaxed somewhat, however the concern that was written across his face did not disappear so easily. "I am glad that you have helped her," he whispered, not meeting Suzette's questioning gaze. "And…when I said 'no' earlier, I had not yet finished to what I meant…" For the life of him he had no idea why he was about to say what he was about to say. "I do not want her sleeping in the same quarters that you all share…I…I think it would be easier on her…as well as for everyone else if…if she is given her own place," his voice was practically a whisper when he had finished.

Suzette however and heard every single word. "You…you want us to prepare her… a room?" she asked, making extra sure she was hearing him correctly.

Erik gritted his teeth. "Yes…I think the southeast cavern would be a good place…it's close to the lagoon, and it's small, but warm and dry. I think that would be a very suitable place for her."

Suzette found herself smiling with pride at his words. "I agree Master…I shall tell the others to begin searching for bedding right away-"

"Wait," Erik interrupted. "I know exactly what I want you to fetch for her…"

Suzette's mouth went wide when she read the thought in Erik's eyes. "Oh, but Master, do you think that's wise?"

A wicked grin was beginning to spread across his face. "Oh yes, I think that will do very nicely," he leaned back against the pillows of his bed feeling much better. "I think I will have another bowl of soup Suzette," he said, sounding extremely peculiar. Suzette realized what it was; he sounded somewhat happy.

* * *

"T-t-his one's m-my FAVORITE!" Rudolph cried out happily as he shuffled over to Christine with the book in his hand. Christine smiled up at him and took the book to have a look at the title.

"The Hunchback of Notre Dame?" she read. "Oh yes! Suzette told me you loved this story…" she looked at Rudolph with a warm smile and wondered how on earth she could have screamed in his face earlier. He wasn't fearsome looking at all to be honest. He was large, hunched over, and his face was baggy-looking, but…he wasn't frightening to say the least. And as she sat there with both him and Gustave…she realized just how much more "human" they were than most people she had encountered in her life above.

Rudolph plopped himself down right next to Christine, who was sitting on a blanket on the cavern floor, grinning as she opened the book. "H-h-have you r-r-r-read it?" he asked, stuttering from his excitement.

Christine smiled at him. "I know of the book, but I confess I have never read it."

"It's w-w-w-w-wonderful!" he exclaimed! "There's a h-h-hunchback bell ringer, he l-lives in the bell t-t-tower high above Paris…a-a-a-and a b-beautiful gypsy girl…she f-f-falls in love with him!"

Christine's smile faded somewhat. While she had never read the book, she knew that was not how the story went. Truth be, the hunchback died and Esmeralda fell in love with a handsome man. However, she had a feeling that Suzette had "altered" certain parts of the story for him. "It sounds lovely," Christine whispered, feeling that she would enjoy Rudolph's version much more than Hugo's. "Perhaps one day you can read it to me?"

Rudolph blushed. "I…I c-c-can only r-read a little," he confessed, looking down at his overly large hands. "B-b-b-but Gustave is t-t-t-teaching me!"

Christine looked over her shoulder at the man with the clubbed feet and the overly large forearms, who was sitting on a rock, as an ape would, with a small worn leather-bound book in his hands. "Gustave r-r-reads the Bible," Rudolph explained. "He was r-r-raised in a m-m-m-mon…m-m-mon…"

"Monastery," Gustave finished. Christine's look of surprise gave him cause to smile. "I never knew my parents," he explained. "I think it was easier on them to leave their 'freak of a son' with someone else than raise him themselves."

Christine bit her lip at the revelation. "I…I'm so sorry," she whispered. She couldn't imagine what it may have felt like to be abandoned.

Gustave, however, continued smiling. "Oh don't be, I have no regrets," he stated quite sincerely. "In fact, I thank God for my upbringing, truly. The monks that took me in were very kind, and it was through them that I received a wonderful education; I do not know if my parents could have done that. And through their kind and charitable example, I have discovered the depths of my faith and believe that I am not an abomination of the human race." He smiled at this, and proceeded to continue reading the passage he was just on.

Christine found herself smiling at his words. "How then did you come to be here?"

"We w-w-were in a c-c-carnival!" Rudolph exclaimed. "But t-the Master, he-"

"Rudolph!" Gustave hissed, quickly quieting the hunchback who bit his lip, realizing that he was telling too much. Christine had paled at Rudolph's first words; a carnival. Had they…were they all on display? A surge of anger shot through her as she imagined poor Rudolph with his sweet nature being forced to show off his body for the wealthy upper classes, and Gustave with all his great intelligence, being reduced to an animal for the viewing pleasure of others. Truly…they were not the freaks of this world.

"Still here, I see," came a low grumble from the shadows. Christine glanced up to see Jacque emerge from the darkness and felt a cold chill run down her spine. Of all the Phantom's servants, he was the one that still frightened her. Suzette, Rudolph, and Gustave had shown nothing but kindness to her, but Jacque…Jacque wanted nothing to do with her, and he was making it extremely plain.

"I w-was s-s-s-showing her my f-f-favorite books!" Rudolph exclaimed happily, pointing at a pile that was on the ground next to Christine. After tending to Erik, Suzette encouraged Rudolph to take Christine to the northwest cavern, the place that she soon learned was where they all slept. Compared to the Phantom's chambers, it was extremely humble…but it held a warm inviting glow that oddly enough reminded her of home back in the country. Like the Phantom's chambers, the cavern had plush Persian rugs that aligned its floors, and pieces of beautiful cloth that hung from its walls. In the center of the room, was a small fire pit with a kettle boiling over a healthy fire. There were four beds, each as different as the four seasons of the year. Gustave's bed was a hammock of deep green cloth that hung between two tall skinny boulders. Rudolph's was a boat, with all the seats removed, replaced by blankets and pillows. Naturally it was the only thing that could fit his great size. Jacque's bed seemed to be a pile of mattresses and blankets thrusted back in a dark corner; fitting for him, she thought. And Suzette's bed actually looked like a bed one would find in a house…save for the fact that it was a bed designed for a child. Each corner was also marked by the distinct personalities of each person. Rudolph had pictures of animals and piles of books near his bed, whereas Gustave had a small pile of books, and an old wooden cross near his. Suzette had a spinning wheel beside her place, with several yards of fabric, and Jacque…Jacque's space was bare; a mystery to enhance his already dark persona.

Yes, out of all of them, Jacque still caused her blood to run cold. Unlike the others, Jacque's deformity was not one he was born with. He was tall, but skinny. His hair hung limply from his head, as did the dark graying beard that covered his face. He wore a tattered gray hat and tattered trousers. He wore no shirt, because his chest, arms, shoulders, and back, were covered, every inch, with tattoos and piercings. Christine flinched when she saw his body, imagining the pain he must feel. True, she had learned from Rudolph in her little time there that Jacque rarely wore a shirt due to the sensitivity of his skin. Why would anyone do anything like that to oneself? She would never understand…and she could not see herself having the courage to ask Jacque why.

Perhaps the most frightening thing about Jacque was his left hand…or lack thereof. Jacque's left hand was gone…replaced with a rusty iron hook that looked as if someone long ago and shoved the metal contraption into his skin. Indeed, skin from his arm seemed to be growing along the edges of the hook; she had to look away for fear that she would be sick.

Jacque snorted in disgust to Rudolph's exuberance over showing Christine his book collection. "Isn't it time that she's placed back in her cage?" he asked Gustave.

"Suzette s-s-said that she c-could s-s-stay here…w-w-w-with us!"

Jacque paled at Rudolph's joyful words. "WHAT!"

Christine flinched to Jacque's bark. She wasn't entirely thrilled with sleeping in the same place with him either, but the cavern was much warmer than the cage she had originally been placed in.

Jacque looked at Christine with coldness and growled, "Why can't the Master simply kill her like all the others?"

Christine paled at his words, which was the exact reaction he was seeking. He couldn't help but chuckle evilly. Gustave however sent Jacque a look full of warning, to which the man with the hook swore, before stalking off to his pile of mattresses and collapsing on top of the heap.

"Don't mind Jacque," Gustave said to Christine just loud enough that Jacque could hear. "He's always in a foul mood, that's his true deformity."

"At least I don't believe in absolute rubbish!" Jacque hissed from his dark corner.

"My faith is not rubbish!" Gustave snapped. "How dare you-"

"I see that childish behavior is running rampant this evening," Suzette grumbled as she entered the cavern. Gustave sent Jacque one more angry look before turning away. Jacque simply grinned to himself before placing his tattered hat over his eyes.

"How's the Master?" Gustave asked, lowering himself with his great arms down to cavern floor.

"Much better, although I had to stop him from getting up," she groaned, sitting herself down on the edge of her own tiny bed. "The Master is too concerned with the Opera House than with his own health," she muttered, rubbing her tired aching feet. "The only way to get him to stay was bring him parchment and ink so he could compose," she rolled her eyes. "If I hear one note coming from that organ, I swear, I will steal his parchment back!"

Christine had her legs tucked under her chin while she listened to Suzette's complaints about the Phantom. How curious, she thought. Had it only been a little over 24 hours that she had believed the infamous opera ghost was a myth? In her brief time there she had learned he was indeed a man; a scarred man, a frightening man, but…a man with a family of sorts, a man with a love for music.

She remembered the night before when she had been hiding in his chambers and saw him play at his organ with more passion than she had ever seen anyone exhibit over music. Her blood went warm at the memory of watching his large skilled callous fingers fly over the organ keys; he pounded his spirit upon them, and yet there was also a strange gentleness he displayed with the instrument. "My dear?" Christine blushed and looked up from her perch on the floor, realizing that Suzette was talking to her. "Are you alright?" she asked. "You seem…distant."

Christine could feel her cheeks burning pink. "I was…just…well, I-"

"Thinking about your father?" Suzette asked, her eyes filling with sympathy for the girl.

Her father. Christine wondered what had become of him. She had vowed to take his place for the Phantom in return for his life to be spared. Had that happened? Had the Phantom truly set her father free? Or had it all been a trick? A vicious trick to lure her into his trap while keeping her father prisoner in a different area of the Phantom's underground lair, or worse, killing him? After all, it was Jacque, a man who had no toleration for outsiders, who had been ordered to remove her father…even if the Phantom ordered him to set the man free, would Jacque have done that?

"It'll be alright," Suzette murmured, reaching out and patting Christine's shoulder with a reassuring touch. Christine smiled at the pat and knew that her father was free and alive; if he wasn't, she knew that she would have learned from Suzette and the others the truth. Yet she still worried for him…especially as she thought of the sadness he was enduring at the moment over losing her.

"Jacque! Gustave! Rudolph! I will be in need of some assistance from you," Suzette commanded. Jacque grumbled his protest to which Suzette immediately ignored. "Come, we need to fetch some things for Mademoiselle Daae," she instructed.

Christine looked at Suzette with confusion while Jacque's silent protest became quite loud. "WHAT? I am doing nothing for her!" he growled. "Let her sleep in that bloody cage; that was the Master's original orders-"

"The Master has changed his mind," Suzette said through clipped lips, cutting Jacque's protests off immediately. The man with the hook stared at Suzette, his eyes and mouth wide with shock. "The Master has ordered that we fetch some things from above for Mademoiselle Daae, so that we may create suitable living quarters for her-"

"SUITABLE LIVING QUARTERS?" Jacque exclaimed. "YOU MEAN HE INTENDS FOR HER TO STAY? WITH US!"

"Yes!" Suzette shouted back, her patience waning greatly. When Christine brought Erik back after the accident, Jacque disappeared, wailing that a mob would be down in seconds after the whole lot of them, that the Master was going to die, and they would all starve to death, depending if the mob came for them. His panicking upset Rudolph immensely, and when they needed help to care for the Master, he was no where to be found. Now Jacque was proving to be more of a nuisance as far as Suzette was concerned, with his complaints towards Christine and his ill temper with everyone else. "The Master has instructed that we create a living space for Mademoiselle Daae in the southeastern cavern near the lagoon, and that we begin immediately," she shot a look at Jacque. "If you don't like it, then go to the Master and inform him of your complaint."

Jacque said nothing; he simply pushed past the little woman out the cavern entrance. Christine chewed on her lip as she watched the man with the hook stalk out. True, she found him frightening, and the idea of a place away from him sounded pleasing, however, making him hate her even more was the last thing she wanted. "I…I don't want to be a burden, and I fear that I am," she whispered.

"Nonsense," Gustave muttered. "Jacque is bent on making everyone's lives miserable when he's unhappy…give him time and he'll come around…he's really a good man." Christine looked at Gustave and found herself feeling reassured by his confidence. It seemed to her that Gustave found the good in every person.

"Come, come, we must fetch these things at once," Suzette clapped her hands. She then turned to Christine. "My dear, for this night, you shall sleep with us, but I promise you, by tomorrow, you will have your own chamber," she said with a smile.

Christine smiled back, however she felt that this was all happening so fast. One night she was a prisoner in a cage…the next night, she was a guest who would be receiving her own private quarters! Had something happened to change the Phantom so? Perhaps he was taking pity on her for saving his life…however, if he truly pitied her, he could release her. She sighed, knowing that if he did release her from his captivity, she would not go, at least…not until she knew he would be alright.

"Suzette, you have had a trying day, why don't you stay and rest?" Gustave offered.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"It's alright S-s-s-suzette," Rudolph stuttered. "We'll f-f-find items f-f-f-fit for a princess!" he grinned at Christine and blushed slightly when she smiled back.

Suzette opened her mouth to protest, but did not say a word. She had been on her feet all day and evening, keeping watch with Christine over Erik's recovery. He had slept most of the day after they had finished stitching up his wound, yet she remained close by, waiting for him to awake so he could get some food in his system. "I won't argue," she admitted. "My feet are hurting quite badly."

"Then you stay and we shall fetch the items the Master wishes us to find," Gustave smiled. "And if he is instructing us to go above…then…well, there is only one place I can conceive that the Master would insist upon…"

Suzette could only grin. "You would not be wrong."

Gustave nodded his head and lead Rudolph out of the cavern. Jacque, who had appeared to have stalked off, was truly waiting for them outside the cavern, and his voice filled with complaints when he saw them emerge. "About bloody time!" he groaned.

Christine watched as her new friends left both her and Suzette behind in the small cavern. "Can I get you anything?" Christine asked, as the tiny woman climbed into her bed. "Some tea perhaps? I could boil some over the fire for you, it would be no trouble."

Suzette smiled at Christine's offer. "You are very kind my dear, but I am fine," she then pointed to a small pile of mattresses and rags nearby. "I'm afraid that was the best I could do at the moment for a temporary bed," she sighed. "I'm sorry my dear, it will be for only one night," she reassured.

Christine smiled back. "It will be far warmer and softer than the floor of that cage."

Suzette smiled faintly at Christine's words, but frowned as well. "I'm sorry you had to endure that my dear…I can understand why that experience, as well as being parted with your father…and all the stories I'm sure you've heard above, would have tainted your view of the Master."

Christine was wiping dust off the blankets of her bed while Suzette spoke. She paused and chewed on her lip some more. "I will not deny that…I found your Master to be a bit of a…of a…"

"A monster?"

Christine looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry, I-"

Suzette clucked her tongue. "Nothing to apologize for my dear, that is the image the Master wishes to express. However, I never truly believed him capable of monstrous behavior till I saw him take you prisoner and order you to be placed in that cage," she grumbled coldly. "I know that may sound strange…after all, those stories that you've heard of the Master killing intruders…they are not pure acts of fiction."

Christine felt her blood run cold. She knew she shouldn't be surprised by such news, after all, her father was trapped and it seemed the Phantom had every indication of murdering him. So why was she affected so? Why did it bother her to think of him as a villain?

"The stories are greatly exaggerated, however," Suzette clarified. "I know that the stagehands and ballet girls make it sound like masses of people have come below and have lost their lives at the Phantom's wrath…but if that were the truth, do you think that they would not have stormed down here seeking the murderer?" Suzette did have a point, Christine could not argue that. "Truth is, only a handful of men have ventured below and have lost their lives; these caverns and tunnels have been carefully booby trapped to stop any trespasser. Most of the traps are simply designed to scare people away, or perhaps cause a minor injury, nothing serious. However, some are designed to do more…" she shuddered. "The Master is more than simply a musical genius, he is an inventor as well, and has designed some of the most elaborate contraptions you have ever seen!" She found herself smiling with pride as she told Christine the tale. Then her smile faded once again to a frown. "However, I…I know that does not excuse the Master for what some of his contraptions have done…"

Christine agreed with Suzette; nothing could excuse murder, however…after getting to know the people who lived below with the Phantom…she began to understand why such precautions were being made. "Forgive me…I understand if this is something you do not wish to discuss, and I will not raise it again-"

"You wish to know how we came to be here?" Suzette asked, her eyes shining with understanding. "I'm an old woman my dear, I know a curious face when I see one."

Christine blushed deeply. "It's just…well, Rudolph started to tell me something about a carnival…but Gustave quickly shushed him."

"Ahh yes," Suzette sighed, before waving her hand for Christine to come closer. She immediately obeyed, picking up one of the blankets she had dusted and drawing it over to Suzette's bedside. "Well…what Rudolph was going to tell you is true…there was a carnival…and that was how we all knew each other."

Christine looked down at her hands which were clasped tightly together. "Was it…a…a freak show?" she whispered, not caring for the word at all.

Suzette nodded her head. "Unlike the others, I was not kept in a cage constantly. I was more of a servant really. The owners had me move about, fetching things for them, giving them food and drink, picking pockets off the viewers when they were looking upon the others," she muttered in disgust. "At night, they caged me with Rudolph, because he would cry in the dark. I was the only one who could keep him calm," she smiled softly at the memory. "Rudolph is very much like a son to me," she whispered.

Christine smiled at Suzette's words, but felt her anger kindle at the people who had treated Suzette and the others like animals. "Besides myself, Jacque had been there the longest," Suzette continued to explain. "He was not born like that, as I'm sure you could guess. No, he was their first 'freak' put on display. They did that to his body…I remember hearing his cries of anguish whenever they placed a new tattoo or piercing on him," she shuddered as the memories flooded her. "But even after they the mutilated his body, they still were not satisfied. So they burnt his hand off his arm-"

Christine gasped. "They burnt his hand off him?"

Suzette sadly nodded her head. "Yes…and before the wound had time to heal, they rammed that horrid hook into his flesh…" she whispered. "To this day, I can still remember the screams…and the blood, oh God in heaven, there was so much blood."

Christine felt her stomach churn at the thought. All her thoughts towards Jacque had now changed; she could completely understand why he disliked her and she didn't blame him. She represented the world that had turned his body into a perversion. No, she did not blame him for his suspicions in regards to her at all.

"Gustave's life was not nearly as harsh," Suzette continued.

"Yes…he told me that he was raised in a monastery," Christine explained.

Suzette nodded her head. "Yes, he was very fortunate," she sighed. "The monks were good to him, they gave him food, warmth, love, and an education," her expression changed suddenly. "However, the Father who was head of the monastery died, and a new one came to take his place. This man saw Gustave as an abomination, God's punishment for the sinful ways of human nature," she sighed sadly. "He sold Gustave to the carnival…I remember that day very clearly. He became known as the 'ape man', and was forced to perform stunts for the wealthy," she forced a smile, although it was sad. "Still amazes me how despite all that, he is able to find the good in everyone…" She sighed again, her small wrinkled fingers playing with the ends of her blanket. "And Rudolph…poor Rudolph…"

Christine sniffed back the tears that were already threatening to descend. She was not sure if she could bear hearing Rudolph's sad tale.

"Rudolph came to us as an infant. His mother…" she paused for a second to collect herself. "His mother was a gypsy, barely 16 if I remember correctly. She had been raped and did not wish to keep the babe, especially after seeing his deformed figure. The carnival offered a handsome price for the child, so without second thought, she sold him to their display," she looked up at Christine, her own eyes reflecting the tears that mirrored the young woman's. "Ironic, is it not? Rudolph dreams of meeting a gypsy girl one day…and his own mother, a gypsy girl, sold him off."

Christine wiped her eyes, her heart breaking for Rudolph as she remembered him telling her his version of Victor Hugo's novel. She smiled through the tears at the memory of him calling her "gypsy girl", but more tears came at the thought of his mother selling him to a side show freak carnival.

"Those were very hard years for us," Suzette whispered, wiping her own eyes. "But…thank the good Lord, the Master came to be with us…and helped us escape."

Christine sat forward at the mention of the Phantom. "Was he…in the carnival as well?"

"Oh yes, he became a star attraction for them," Suzette explained. "He was the last to join. You see, the carnival traveled all across Europe, and I remember being in the east…Romania, Bulgaria…we may have even been in Turkey! But wherever we were, there was a Persian caravan that passed us by."

"Persian?" Christine exclaimed, surprise etched across her face.

"Oh yes," Suzette nodded. "Little is known of the Master's origins, whether he was born in Persia, or if one of his parent's was Persian, but he was in their caravan and they were looking for a way to make some money, so for a hefty price, they sold him to the carnival."

Christine imagined the Phantom, the fierce dark figure that he was, exposed to the ridicule of others in a freak show. Her heart swelled with pity for him. "How old was he?" she asked.

"He was a boy, 13, perhaps 14?" she sighed. "They called him the 'half man'; one side of his face looks like that of any other man's…but the other…" she shivered slightly. "Well my dear, you have seen him without the mask." Indeed she had…and yet Christine remembered the second time she saw his face and not fearing it…rather finding it fascinating. She blushed at the thought as Suzette continued her story. "They used to open the curtain to his cage, exposing only the unscarred side of his face. They then would ask one of the young ladies to come forward to the cage and pucker her lips for a kiss."

Christine felt her insides churn again at the thought. Of all the cruel things to do to someone; her sickness turned to rage.

"Then, after the girl finished giggling and had her lips puckered for a kiss, they would tell the Master to turn and face the young lady head on, exposing his scars," she trembled again. "They would turn and scream and blubber about, agitating the Master and forcing him to attempt at kissing the already screaming girl," she shook her head. "Sometimes he refused to turn and face the audience, so the carnival owners would lash him in front of everyone…" she wrapped her arms around herself as if seeking comfort. "It was horrible, those years in that place."

Christine's fists were tight round balls of rage. "Monsters…they were the real monsters."

"I agree," Suzette sighed, settling herself back in her tiny bed. "But we did escape, as you can see," she smiled. "We owe that to the Master, actually."

Christine looked up at Suzette with curious eyes. "He helped you all?"

"Oh yes, it was his idea actually," she smiled. "One night, the watchman was very drunk and the Master saw the opportunity. I was already in my cage and witnessed the whole thing from it. You see, he started to insult the watchman, calling him names and throwing pebbles at him that children had thrown at the Master earlier that day."

"Charming," Christine muttered.

"Well, the watchman, who had the keys around his belt, got irritated and threatened that he would come into the Master's cage and beat him within an inch of his life. Of course the Master continued his insults," Suzette grinned.

Christine was leaning close, her head resting in on top of her hands, her body leaning against the small child-size bed. "Then what happened?"

Suzette's grin spread further. "Well, as he promised, the watchman grabbed the whip that was normally used when any of us 'acted up', and proceeded to enter the Master's cage with every intention of beating him," Christine was holding her breath, anticipating Suzette's every word. "Once he entered the cage, the Master then lashed out, kicking the watchman hard in the groin, before slamming his head against the bars of the cage."

"And no one heard it?" Christine asked in amazement.

Suzette shook her head. "They were all drinking in their little hut, singing loudly and very off key. Even if the watchman had cried out for help, they wouldn't have heard it."

"So then what happened?"

"Well, the Master got hold of the keys, and immediately set about releasing us. There were others," Suzette explained, "but they chose to go their own way…to this day I don't know what became of them," she sighed sadly. "But Rudolph, Gustave, Jacque, and I…we all chose to follow the Master. We were just outside Paris, so we took our chances and wandered into the city. At that time, the Opera House was being completed, so the Master thought we would be safe hiding there. We found some stairs that led down…and heard water below…so we followed the sound, and…discovered this," she finished, holding her arms out to the cavern. "We believe that it was part of the underground catacombs used in the middle ages."

Christine was amazed by the whole tale. "How long…how long have been down here?" she asked, amazed that no one else had discovered their secret.

Suzette counted softly in her head. "The Master was 17 when we escaped so…just over 20 years."

20 years. No one, till now, knew of their secret which had been kept well for over 20 years. "Amazing…" she whispered. "And…he saved all of you?"

Suzette smiled proudly. "He could have run and saved his own skin, but…not our Erik. He's a good man, truly he is."

"Erik…" Christine whispered. The Phantom had a name.

"Now my dear, you need your rest," Suzette shushed. "Climb into bed and get some sleep…tomorrow you'll have a new place all your own."

Christine wanted to smile to Suzette's words, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She missed her father and was worried about him; yet she was also grateful for the new friends she had just made. And then there was the Phantom.

Erik. The name suited him. She wondered how he came to it. Was it given to him by his captives? Or did his mother give him the name before something happened to her? Did she sell him to the Persian caravan? Or did a tragic accident occur, causing him to be ripped from his family? So many questions were still waiting to be unveiled, but one thing was now understood: this place, this world, was his to protect. These people were not his servants, they were his family–yet they felt obligated to treat him as their master for the salvation he had given them. Yes, despite his harsh behavior to her, Christine could see the good man that hid within the shadows of his persona.

"Goodnight Suzette," she whispered to the little woman as she burrowed under the soft blankets of her temporary sleeping place. She wondered about her captor, wondered about the sudden change in his attitude for wanting to give her a place of her own, instead of throwing her back in the cage. Perhaps it was just pity he felt for her…but she couldn't help the feeling that she wanted it to be more. Friendship perhaps? Surely that was all it was…wasn't it? Christine blushed at the thought and told herself to go to sleep.

* * *

Carlotta's screams filled the Opera House's walls, causing Piangi and the managers to come running to her side. "Cara! My beloved, what is it? What's wrong?" Piangi cried, finding his prima donna standing aghast in the doorway of her dressing room.

"WHAT HAS HAPPENED?" she screamed. The managers arrived just then, huffing from their sprint and peered inside to see what had caused the soprano to be so upset.

"Good God," Firmin gasped. The dressing room was in shambles. The dressing table, the chaise lounge, all the elegant furniture was gone, leaving only several gaudy dresses and tangled wigs here and there. "What happened senora?"

Carlotta turned on the managers and released her fury. "DO YOU THINK I WOULD BE ASKING YOU IF I KNEW? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" she stormed past them, nearly knocking them to the ground. "I HATE THIS PLACE!"

Somewhere, far below Carlotta's dressing, someone was grinning at the harpy's screams. "I really must do that more often," Erik chuckled.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom and his captive strike an interesting bargain...one that will change their outlook on one another, forever.

_**Bargaining** _

_"Christine…"_

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of her name. Christine lifted her head, looking around her, remembering once again that she was not in the apartment she and her father occupied, but beneath the Opera House. The cavern was dark save for a few orange embers that glowed from the hearth in the center. Who had spoken to her? All she could hear now were the soft snores of her new friends. And then she heard it again…

_"Christine…"_

She rose from the bed, a blanket wrapped tightly about her body. The voice seemed to be coming from beyond the cavern.

_"Christine…come to me, my angel…"_

The voice was hypnotic. Low and deep, rich and soft. A whisper; yet loud and clear. She felt like a ship at sea, and the voice was her beacon guiding her to safe harbor. Or, it could be that of a siren, luring her to her death. Either way, she was under it's power and could not turn away. "I am coming…" she called back, following the voice through the darkness of the tunnels.

The voice was replaced by music. Music she had heard before in her dreams; soft and sad, yet so beautiful and passionate. She continued her unknown journey, her feet carrying her as if she were as light as air.

_"Sing for me, my angel…"_

Christine opened her mouth willingly to the request. Was it a request? The voice was soft and sweet, yet the words seemed commanding. She opened her mouth, yet no sound came out.

_"Please sing for me…I long to hear your voice mingle with my music…"_

Her skin tingled in the most wonderful way. She felt something within her begin to burn, begin to come alive. The music rose higher in its passion, and as it did so, she felt her blood rise with it, the heat of her body climax with each note.

The blanket fell away, like a puddle at her bare feet. She wore a sheer gown, its material touching her like a thousand silken fingers. Funny, she did not remember putting such a gown on.

_"Yes my angel…come to me…sing for me…stay with me…"_

Christine opened her mouth again, willing her voice, forcing it almost, to obey the other's commands. She wanted to please her ghost, her angel of music who was playing for her and her alone.

_"Oh angel…how I long to hear you sing…"_

Christine attempted again, but her voice stopped in a gasp as she felt something touch her. A hand? She gasped again as she felt the hand, strong and large, spread over her stomach…and then move down, slowly, running along the length of her thigh.

_"Mmmmmmmm…your body was meant for singing…"_ the voice whispered. She gasped for she could hear it in her ear. She felt a hand touch her throat, the long strong fingers spread across her neck and then move downward…further and further.

She held her breath.

_"I shall teach you to sing…a very, very special kind of song…"_ the voice promised, as a silky tongue darted out to taste her earlobe, and the fingers on her thigh moved between her legs and the one on her chest moved to cup her breast.

_"Oh Christine…Christine…"_

"CHRISTINE!"

Christine awoke with a start, her face flushed, her brow covered with beads of sweat, the blankets sticking to her body. She gasped and shook her head, looking around and trying to comprehend what had happened.

A dream. It had all been a dream, and standing near her bed, looking extremely exuberant, was Rudolph who was practically hopping up and down. "C-C-COME AND SEE!" he exclaimed, his large hands grasping hers and pulling her out of bed.

Christine squealed, blushing and thinking she was wearing the silken sheer gown as she had in her dream, but she soon realized that instead, she was still wearing her drab blue dress from the previous day. No wonder her body felt stiff.

"Rudolph!" Suzette scolded. "Put her down at once!"

Christine realized that her feet weren't touching the ground; she was so concerned about her state of dress that she hadn't realized. Rudolph looked ashamed and quickly put her down, turning a bright shade of red and shrinking his large size into a small ball. "S-s-s-sorry C-c-c-christine," he stuttered, scuffing his feet and looking sad.

Christine smiled and patted Rudolph's bulky face, to which he grinned, although she herself was disappointed by being interrupted from her erotic dream. Or perhaps she was more disappointed that it had turned out to only be a dream. Who was her mysterious angel? It was not the first time she had had such a dream; however this one was much more…realistic.

"C-c-c-come and s-see!" Rudolph cried again, gently tugging on her hands to follow. His gentle tug was truly a good hard pull, but he was trying.

Suzette rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He won't be satisfied till you follow him my dear…I'll make you some breakfast while you're looking."

Christine was so confused. Looking? Looking at what? What had gotten into Rudolph? He grinned and tugged on her arm to follow him, which she had no choice but to follow, as his tugs were quite insistent.

He led her through the dark tunnels and passages of the underground labyrinth with ease. Some tunnels were pitch black, yet Rudolph navigated the two of them without any problem. Everything looked the same as it had the night before…how did they know when it was morning and when it was evening? She was not sure if she could stand living a life underground, but then she reminded herself that her new friends had little choice.

Some of the tunnels looked oddly familiar…like the tunnels of her dream. She tried to remember the route he was taking her, but after a while, every passage looked no different than the previous one. Christine wondered how far they were going, as it seemed they had been walking–running practically, for Rudolph's steps kept getting wider and wider–for quite some time.

"Almost t-t-there!" Rudolph said happily, pulling on her arms a little more. Christine continued following, curious to see what it was that had him in such a state. She was surprised when Rudolph suddenly stopped in front of her, causing Christine to run into his large frame. "There…" he pointed towards a small glittering light that was coming through a sliver in the cavern wall. Christine looked around him, her gaze following the direction his finger was pointing. She saw the soft golden glow that was softly illuminating a nearby rock. She realized that the glow as coming from just beyond the rock. What was it? Her first thoughts were that it was the light of morning, streaming through a crack in the cave's ceiling. But as she slowly approached the light, with Rudolph's instance, she realized that it was artificial, and not the sun.

"G-g-go on!" he encouraged, grinning from ear to ear. Christine nodded her head at Rudolph, slowly going towards the glow, wondering what lay beyond the rocks that blocked her initial eyesight. She realized that the rocks were not hiding the light, they were simply in front of it. She did not have to remove them; she simply had to go around them. She side stepped to her right and went beyond the rocks, finding a small entrance into a cavern. The glow was growing brighter…and her curiosity was growing wilder. The entrance was small, but not to the point where she had to bend down, as she initially thought she would have to do. She gasped when she saw a lacy white curtain covering the "doorway" to the cavern. How did this get here? It was beautiful to be sure, but…where did it come from? Christine pushed the curtain aside…and her breath stopped.

The cavern was small…no bigger than some of the dressing rooms that the chorus girls occupied above…but it was adorned in the most exquisite state she had ever seen. Before her was a rich scarlet rug, unbelievably soft, which stretched to the far reaches of the tiny cavern's floor. In one corner was a beautiful mahogany dressing table, adorned in brightly colored bottles of perfume, cream, and soap. The scent of lavender and rose petals filled her nostrils, reminding Christine of the rose bushes she and her father kept back at their old farm. The dressing table had a pristine mirror which reflected the elegant area she was standing in. There were several beautiful works of art that hung from the cavern walls, and several stone pedestals that held crystal vases filled with all sorts of colorful flowers. To the left of the dressing table was a scarlet chaise-lounge, which had a lovely lace throw adorned across it. She heard the soft trickling of water and glanced to her left and gasped. A tiny waterfall trickled from the ceiling down to a small pound that was at the bottom of a tiny slope. Before the slope there was a mahogany table with two chairs, each with the same scarlet cushions as the chaise-lounge. A single pink rose in a slender crystal vase adorned the table. Light glittered off the falling water and Christine's followed it to see where the light came from. Several large beautiful crystal oil lamps hung from silver hooks on the cavern's walls…yet they were not causing the odd glittering glow. No, the glow was coming from what the light of the oil lamps were bouncing off…which was a small beautiful crystal chandelier, which seemed to sparkle with diamonds, which hung from the center of the ceiling. And then…in the very middle of the room, was a bed. It was not small, but not overly large. Two people could sleep on it if they wished, but they would have to be pressed very close together. Christine found herself blushing at the thought. The bed was four posters, and was covered with lace curtains that were held back by white ribbons. The sheets looked as if they were made of silk, and the blanket that covered it was a deep velvet scarlet, same as the other furniture. Needless to say…the cavern took her breath away.

"And just in time for breakfast!" came a merry voice. Christine whirled around to see Suzette smiling as she held a small silver tray, adorned with eggs, bacon, several kinds of sweet cakes, and a cup of tea. "Here you are my dear…I'm afraid we were not able to build you a fireplace just yet, but do not worry, all in good time you will have one," she smiled.

Christine was flabbergasted. She could not find her voice, her eyes were wide with amazement. This…this was hers?

"S-s-suzette…" she murmured looking around her, not knowing where to start.

"D-d-d-d-do you l-l-l-like it?" Rudolph asked, his stutter even stronger due to his nervousness. He wanted to make sure she loved it, he had worked very hard with the others the previous night to make sure it was perfect.

"Like it," Christine whispered. "I…I don't know what to say?" Rudolph's face fell at her words. "It's the most beautiful room I have ever seen!" she exclaimed. His face instantly broke into a large smile. "I…good Lord, where did this all come from?" Christine asked, her body whirling around the room, taking in everything she was seeing. Suzette and Rudolph smiled at one another. "I…I just…I don't know what to say…" she whispered, feeling happy tears form in her eyes. "But…I can not accept this…this is too kind, why…it's fit for a princess! And I'm just a country girl-"

"T-t-t-the Master w-w-will be upset if you d-d-don't take it," Rudolph quickly interrupted. "Please say you w-will stay?" Christine was moved by Rudolph's words, not knowing that when he made his simple request, he was asking her more than simply accepting the room.

"Oh Rudolph…" she looked at Suzette then as well. "Thank you both…and please thank Gustave and Jacque for me as well! I can only imagine how tired you must all be," she whispered, wiping her eyes and giggling as she remembered that both Gustave and Jacque were snoring in their beds when Rudolph roused her.

"We are not the ones who deserve the thanks my dear," Suzette simply stated. "This was all the Master's doing. He merely directed us to fetch the furniture; he designed the room himself."

Christine stared wide-eyed at Suzette. "The Phant–I mean, Erik…he…he…" she could not believe it.

"Yes," Suzette sighed. "Despite how I told him to stay in bed, he insisted on being here while the others brought the furniture. At least he didn't attempt to move it himself," she thanked heaven for some small favors. "He was present with directing where things should go and designing the whole space," she explained, before taking Christine's hand and leading her towards the table by the small waterfall. "Now, come along and eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

* * *

Was this another dream?

Christine gazed at the lace that covered the top of the bed, relishing in the soft sheets that she lay upon. The previous night had been alright, but it wasn't the best sleep she had received. The mattresses she was given for a bed were old with springs that popped here and there. She had tossed and turned throughout the night and her back ached somewhat. But now, as she laid upon her new bed…oh she had never felt anything softer, as if she were laying on a cloud.

She truly did feel like a princess; she had never seen anything finer. And yet…she did not feel deserving of this extravagant gift. Were the others content? Why was she given luxury when they continued to sleep in their present quarters? Were they happy with what they had, or would they begin to envy her? Was it right for her to have such luxuries? After all, she was a prisoner. And then there was the Phantom…

"Erik," she whispered the name again. His name was both mysterious and beautiful. Ever since Suzette had told her the story of how they all had come to be there, she could not stop thinking about him. Despite his dark mood and cruel exterior…she had learned that he was caring and devoted to those he felt responsible for. They all called him "Master", and had adopted the understanding of being servants for him; that was her first prejudice towards him. Christine knew of several wealthy families back around the country village in which she grew up. They were all snobby and arrogant, commanding servants to do whatever they wished, even if the command was humiliating. The family of her mother, who snubbed her after marrying a poor musician, taught Christine how far people were willing to go to view others as equals…and it wasn't that far.

Yet the Phantom…was different. He was the equal of the others; he too lived in that horrid place and suffered the same humiliating cruel acts that they had faced. And when the time came for his escape, he could have easily left without anyone else. But he released the others, and in return for their freedom, they wished to serve him with whatever he needed. And it did not end there either, for he cared for them, provided them food, clothing, shelter, and whatever else they wished. While this underground labyrinth was amazing with all its secret treasures…Christine had a feeling that many of the things that were there, such as Suzette's yards of fabric for her sewing and Rudolph's book collection, came from the Phantom himself. And this entire room…where it had come from, she did not know…but he, as she was reminded many times by the others, had wished for her to have it, and was present with the organization of it.

Why had he changed? Was it not one day ago that they were blaming each other for one another's troubles and throwing insults back and forth? Did he feel pity for her? Was this his way of showing thanks for her bringing him back and helping to save his life? Whatever it was…she needed to thank him. Oh she could envision it now, she thought with a wry grin. Yes, she could see herself strolling into his elaborate chambers, and thanking him for the beautiful room and all that he had done…and then receiving scoffing remarks and sarcastic laughter. No, the Phantom did not strike her as a man who would listen to compliments and gratitude.

…and yet she still felt the need to go to him and somehow thank him, even if it was simply seeing his face again.

His face. Funny, she thought. The first time she saw him without his mask, she was terrified. Never had she seen anything more horrific in her whole life. But when she reflected on the situation the second time she removed his mask to place a cool cloth on his cheeks and forehead to ward off the fever, she discovered she truly was not terrified…but intrigued. She concluded that what startled her initially was the way he suddenly turned around after he felt the mask being removed. It was the rage that she saw etched across his face, as well as the odd duality; one side was "normal" while the other…wasn't.

But when she looked at him again without the mask…her eyes studied his scars, and her fingers lightly played over them while he slept. The scars were hard, and had a somewhat leathery texture. She could feel the bones of his nose and right cheekbone, which had skin covering them, but no muscle tissue. The bag of flesh that hung slightly over his right eye was hard as well, despite looking somewhat squishy. How he came by these scars she did not know…but the more she studied them, the less afraid she felt. She gazed upon the other side of his face, the side that looked like that of any workman's. It was not handsome, at least not by fashionable society's standards, but then, when was she considered fashionable? It was rugged in texture, pale, but there was a soft hint of brown to his skin. She remembered how Suzette mentioned that one theory of Erik's origins was that he was from Persia; perhaps that explained the skin tone? His face was not slender, but with a strong set jaw. The cheekbones were not high, but they were sleek, offering a more rounded look. His eyes however…that was where she remembered her breath being stolen.

Erik had the eyes of a panther; large and golden. In the shadows they looked amber–a soft shade of brown with flecks of gold. But when the light shown on his face, and when his eyes went wide with shock or surprise, they turned a golden color, one that drew her into its depths and made her feel like drowning.

And his voice. It was not silken, but deeper, richer…more like the scarlet velvet that adorned her bed. Soft, yet textured; dangerous, yet warm.

He was also very strong, as she remembered when he appeared in the ally. She recalled his body bent over the organ when she had been hiding. She could only see his back, but he had removed his suit coat and she could see the hard bulky muscles moving under his linen shirt. His shoulders were massive, wide and strong, designed to carry heavy burdens…and she had a feeling they had, although not all his burdens were physical. His arms were strong too, and she remembered the way those arms had fought those three men in that ally, throwing heavy punches and sending those men who were larger in scale across the ally. His hands were obviously larger than hers. When she was tending to him, she placed her hand over his at one point, and was intrigued by how her small fingers would lose themselves in his massive palm. They were nowhere near as big as Rudolph's hands, but she knew that if they touched her face, the tips of his fingers would be at her brow and the edge of his palm would be near her throat.

His bulkiness did not hinder his gracefulness, another panther-like quality. The way he moved when he was fighting was like a dance of sorts. And when she watched him play at his organ, she saw the graceful way his fingers played over the keys, despite the passionate fury his very soul was screaming. Her blood grew hot at the memory; she had been mesmerized by his playing, his music as well as his very being calling out to her like a siren. Was his music the one she heard in her dream? Was it his voice she had heard? She blushed deeply and sat up; she had been laying on her back and yet she had felt dizzy.

The gothic romances her mother had read to her were full of dark suspense, mystery, a little gore here and there, and plenty of ghostly passion. She remembered how as a child she thought the notion of ghosts was quite romantic, and she even felt that way upon her first arrival to the Paris Opera House. Her feelings on such things had changed; no longer did she find such ideas fascinating or romantic, but frightening and childish. Yet now…for the first time since her first day in Paris, Christine found herself once again believing in ghostly romance and gothic fantasy. Even though she knew what lay beneath his mask…she could not help but be lost in the mystery of it.

"I'm being so foolish," her practical side scolded. "He said so himself, this is no fairy tale and he is no prince…he is my kidnapper. He may be kind to those who suffer the same way he suffers, but that means I'm his enemy and will always be such in his eyes." So why did these thoughts upset her?

She had to see him; that was the only way to put an end to these silly feelings that were awakening her body to unknown sensations…as well as her heart.

One insult would be all that she needed to remind her silly heart what was her true situation. She could go to him, thank him for his gift, and then allow him to ridicule her for being so foolish as to come to him and think such things. Yes, she would do that, that way she would do the right thing by thanking him…and be reminded of her real situation, that she was prisoner and this beautiful room was her new cage.

So why was her heart breaking at the thought?

"Oh Christine Daae," she grumbled, rising to her feet and taking one of the oil lamps off the wall and using it as a guide to carry her through the darkened tunnels. "You truly are a foolish country chit!"

Yet her personal insults quickly came to a stop and were replaced by surprise as she found herself going down unknown tunnels…and yet feeling as if they were leading her in the right direction. She had never seen these tunnels before…yet she felt as if she knew them…

Lo and behold, in a matter of minutes, Christine found herself standing just inside the first chamber that belonged to the Phantom. She looked again at the beautiful mighty pipe organ that seemed to be embedded in the rock. By closing her eyes, she could see him sitting at it and playing passionately as she had seen him do only two nights ago.

She shook her head and told herself to continue onward, that she had come here for a purpose.

Quietly, she tipped-toed towards the second chamber, the one in which he slept, and so softly, peered through the shadows to see if he was conscious. Instead, she was greeted by the soft even sound of his breathing, and saw him sleeping, looking utterly exhausted. Christine couldn't help but grin at the sight of him. He wore the mask (she had a feeling he rarely took it off) and on his stomach lay sheets of parchment, while in one hand he held a pen and in the other, an inkwell. He looked so peaceful, but she reminded herself that a lion looks just as peaceful before pouncing on its prey.

She knew she should leave him be, but she found herself drawn to him, even in his sleeping state. She quietly approached the side of his bed, and carefully, so as not to wake him, removed the inkwell and pen from his hands. She placed the two items next to the bed on a small table, and then she proceeded to pick up the paper that was scattered across the bed. He made a sound which caused her to jump somewhat, but she noticed that he was still sleeping quite peacefully. She had the amazing urge to bend over and place a soft kiss on his forehead, but she resisted. Instead, she blew out the single candle that was lit by his bedside, and took the parchment into the next room, leaving the slumbering Phantom in peace.

Christine placed the parchment on top of a beautiful piano that sat near the pipe organ. She would come back later or perhaps tomorrow and thank him then. But something on the parchment caught her eye and drew Christine back. It was a song, one that looked as if it had been freshly written.

She recalled the score she had discovered those two nights ago with the words _Don Juan Triumphant_ written at the top. She was not familiar with an opera by that title, and while she had grown up in the country, her father, a lover of all things related to music, had told her much about many operas, the famous and less famous alike. Like that score sheet, this song also contained the words _Don Juan Triumphant_ written in small letters in the upper right-hand corner. The title of the song was "Point of No Return". Christine felt a shiver run down her spine.

The song was a duet, sung by the main figure, Don Juan, and a girl by the name of Aminta. She found herself blushing as she read the first few lines, realizing that it was a love song of sorts…yet the lyrics were extremely erotic, as Don Juan attempts to seduce Aminta. The music was odd as well. One minute, the notes were moving to a graceful slow rhythm, and the next, they changed dramatically to a thunderous exclamation. Without realizing it, she found herself humming softly to the melody…and then, as her eyes reached Aminta's part, she discovered herself singing the role.

"You have brought me  
to that moment where words run dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears  
into silence,  
silence…"

She took a breath and continued on, her voice growing a little more confident as the music began to flow through her, casting its spell upon her soul.

"I have come here,  
hardly knowing the reason why…  
in my mind,  
I've already imagined  
our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent–  
and now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
decided…"

"What are you doing?"

Christine gasped and whirled around, her hands gripping the piano to keep herself from fainting with shock.

She had been caught. There he stood, towering over her as she remembered the first time she met him. His shirt was gone; all he wore were a pair of crumpled black suit trousers and his mask. He stood in the entrance between the two chambers, his shoulders easily touching both sides of the entry, filling it like a door. Even in her frightened state, Christine could not help but look at his bare chest and take in the body she saw before her very eyes. And yet everything in her being told her to run, to get out of there, that she had been meddling in private things and now she was going to pay dearly. She couldn't look into his eyes, she feared what she would find.

So instead, she turned on her heel and darted towards the entrance that led out into the dark tunnels just beyond. This was his lair, nothing could stop him from pursuing her, but right now she wasn't thinking practically, simply following what her instincts told her to do which was run.

"STOP!"

Why, she did not know, but Christine turned her head to look over her shoulder at his thunderous voice, only to find that he wasn't there…but had somehow moved in front of her. She gasped and stared up at him, as he was literally only a breath away from her body. How was that possible for someone to move so quickly?

"I…I…" she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I…I'm sorry, I only…that is, I only came to…to thank you for the room, and…you were asleep, s-s-so I thought…I simply thought that…I only intended…" she was backing away from him and gasped when she discovered she was back against the piano. He was slowly stalking towards her.

"I…I didn't mean to pry, please forgive me, I just…I didn't do any harm, I didn't mean any harm, I…I…" she had nowhere else to go, her back was against the piano and he was still stalking forward. She felt like shrinking, and then, she stopped babbling when she felt his finger reach out and touch her lips.

"Hush now…" he whispered. His voice was not filled with anger…but…fascination. She was instantly quiet in that moment, and she slowly lifted her lashes to gaze up into those molten eyes that were watching her with such intensity.

"I'm going to ask you a question," he murmured, his finger still against her lips. "And I want you to answer me truthfully, nothing else." He paused to see if she understood. "How…when…" he swore softly to himself, for he discovered he too was stumbling over his own words. "Who taught you how to read music?" he softly demanded, yet with great gentleness.

Christine locked eyes with him once more, and read the earnestness in them for his need to know the answer. Slowly he removed his finger from her lips and waited, while she took a deep breath. "My father taught me," she whispered, her eyes not leaving his. "He would play music to me on his violin…and I learned how to read it by singing over his shoulder while he played."

"Amazing…" Erik whispered. It was then that he realized how close he was to her, and he quickly took one step back, providing a little more space between them. "And…how did you learn to sing?"

Christine looked confused by the question. How did she learn to sing? Some people, when they found themselves in the water, could swim like fish. Others could climb rocks and trees as if gravity itself did not apply to them. For her, singing was like breathing; it was just something she could do and had always been able to do. "No one taught me," she whispered. "I…I just can."

His eyes changed, from amazed to scrupulous. He studied her for a long hard moment. He was a connoisseur of music, he knew how to play a variety of instruments, knew all the masterworks by the great composers, and had written several symphonies, cantatas, requiems, marches, and operas, and yet he did it all by thorough and meticulous study. He was born with a gift, but it was gift that did not come so easily, no matter how hard he tried to will it.

But this girl…was it possible for one to have such God-given talent? Only one way to find out…

"Sing this for me," he demanded, finding a song from his opera and slamming it down on the piano.

"W-w-what?" Christine looked confused and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She felt as if someone were setting a trap for her.

"Sing this, now!" he demanded again, moving to the piano bench and playing the first few cords of the song. He looked up at her, wanting to scream for her to obey and do as he had said, but he stopped himself and saw the fearful confusion in her eyes. His heart instantly softened. "Please…" he whispered. "Please, sing this for me…I need to hear it…"

His voice sounded so pleading, Christine felt herself melting. She took a deep breath and looked down at the sheet of music before her. It was a song that the girl, Aminta, sung earlier on in the opera. She read the first few cords that opened the music, hearing him play them over and over as he waited. She looked at him one more time, finding his eyes locked on hers as he continued playing those same cords over and over. She looked back at the music and began to sing.

"Think of me,  
think of me fondly  
when we've said goodbye…  
think of me,  
once in awhile  
please promise me you'll try…  
when you find  
that once again you long  
to take your heart back and be free,  
if you ever find a moment,  
spare a thought for me…"

The playing on the piano came to an abrupt halt and Erik pushed himself away from the instrument, rising to his feet in lightning speed and began pacing the chamber like a caged tiger.

Christine had been lost in the beautiful song; the melody was so sweet and soft and the lyrics so loving, that she was startled by the abrupt stop which brought her crashing back to earth. Had she upset him? She knew she had no formal kind of training when it came to singing, but she didn't believe she was horrible.

Erik's eyes latched onto hers, never leaving their blue depths as he continued his pacing. Incredible, amazing, outstanding; there weren't enough words to describe her voice. It was something that had been missing in the Paris Opera House for years…purity. She had such a pure voice, the tone and pitch clear like a bell. Never had he heard anything so exquisite in all his years at the Opera.

She had the voice of an angel.

Christine felt herself grow more and more uneasy with each step he took. She was going to go mad if someone didn't say or do something. "Monsieur, I…I'm sorry if I offend-"

He stopped. "Sorry?" he said with awe. "You're APOLOGIZING?"

Christine practically jumped at the sudden change of tone in his voice. She couldn't tell if he was surprised, elated, or…upset. "I…well…that is…" she looked up into his eyes, her own filled with confusion. "Yes?"

Erik shook his head furiously. "Don't apologize, do not EVER apologize for…" he wanted to say "the most beautiful divine sound I have heard from another living soul", but he didn't. Instead, he said, "…the talent in which you have been blessed."

Christine felt her cheeks burn at his words. Was that…a compliment? She did not think he would ever say such a thing to her. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes quickly darting away as his caught hers again.

Erik sighed and carefully approached her once more. "I have…I have never heard such a sound before," he stated honestly. If it had been someone else who had said such a thing, she would have laughed, feeling that that person was humoring her. Yet she knew that this man was being entirely sincere. "Your voice is truly remarkable," he whispered with awe. "The tone, the pitch…everything…it's so clear…" he turned away, rubbing his brow between his fingers.

Christine stood perfectly still, not entirely sure what to do or say.

"Yet…" he continued. "While it is quite lovely…it is obviously untrained." Christine had blushed to his words and a small smile formed at the corners of her mouth, but after these words, she felt the smile fade away. "You have astounded me with your first attempts at these songs, especially the first one," he murmured. "I know it may sound like bragging, but I have been writing music ever since I've been here…and it is a fact that I am very good at it," he turned to face her once again. "I study music for countless hours every day; most of my compositions end up being burnt for the lack of talent that they possess," he honestly stated. He did believe himself to be good, but he also knew that he was not perfect. "Yet this opera…I do believe is my masterpiece. And you…someone who has had no formal kind of training…can sing the part of Aminta…as if God had composed you for the role."

Christine's mouth fell open at his statement. Surely he was jesting! Yes, her voice was untrained, yes, she had no formal singing experience, but…she was not as good as he was claiming her to be!

"Monsieur-"

"I'll make a deal with you, mademoiselle," he murmured, sitting himself back down at the piano, his fingers lightly running over the ivory keys. " _Don Juan Triumphant_ is an opera that I want performed here in Paris…and now I feel that it is ready to be performed at the end of the opera season. Allow me to be your teacher…to train your voice so that you can perfect the gifts you have been blessed with…and truly emerge as Aminta."

She could not believe what she was hearing. "You…you want to train me?" she asked with bewilderment. Was this the same man who had screamed at her the day before, and then had given her the most beautiful room she had ever seen? Now, instead of being furious with her for singing his music…he wanted to be her teacher?

"Yes, you silly girl," he muttered, feeling his patience thinning. How he longed to take possession of her voice and hear her sing Aminta's part only in the way that he had dreamed.

Christine frowned at his words. "I am not a silly girl," she muttered back. "You can not blame me for being a little…flabbergasted to say the least, by your offer," she stated, folding her arms across her chest.

He found himself grinning. Ah, that spirit of hers…he did so admire it.

"My apologies," he whispered, which in itself was a bit of a shock for Christine. He smiled even more at this. "So, will you allow me to be your teacher?" he asked again. "I will not lie to you," he warned. "I will be extremely demanding and expect perfection at every rehearsal. I know that you came to Paris with hopes of singing in the chorus," he continued, ignoring the surprise that was in her eyes at this fact. "I am not preparing you to be a chorus girl…I am preparing you to be a star. The part of Aminta is not for a chorus girl but for a diva, a woman who can carry the role with perfection. That is what I am demanding…perfection," he stated quite plainly. "Rehearsals will be long and hard…and no doubt you will come to despise me even more than you already do," he sighed. Christine stared at him when he said these words, her heart going out to him, but her mind reeling with everything he was telling her. "But I can not help that, I am a slave to music and it is my greatest passion. And I demand so much because…I can hear the potential for greatness by what you have sung thus far," he murmured in awe once again. "So, what do you say? Will you let me teach you?" while it sounded like a question, it was truly more like a demand.

Christine let everything he had said soak in. She had no sense of what formal training was like. If she had sought it from someone else would it be as grueling and demanding as he was warning her? Did she have a choice?

She lifted an eyebrow and stared back at him. "You said this was a deal…what did you mean by that?"

_Clever girl_. His admiration for her was growing by the minute.

"Let me train you, and when I feel that you are ready, that you have reached your pinnacle and can step forward as the new star for the Paris Opera House…I will release you from your captivity."

Christine was floored by his last words. He would set her free simply by accepting his offer to train her voice?

"Understand that it will depend on whether I and I alone believe you are ready," he explained one last time, giving her fair warning. "But yes…when that time has come…you will be released."

He wasn't sure why…but he felt a stab of pain under his left rib after he said those words. Funny, the bullet hadn't hit him there…

"So give me an answer mademoiselle before I lose my mind with waiting."

Christine gazed into his amber eyes once more, losing herself in the golden brown pools of his being.

Freedom.

She could almost taste it.

And yet she felt a strange wave of sadness come over her for a brief moment. She quickly shook the feeling away, unsure what it was or what it meant, and refocused her gaze with his. By agreeing to his bargain, not only would she be released from her captivity, but her dreams of singing on stage at the Paris Opera House would come true as well! Yes, it would be hard work, she had no doubt…but she was up to the challenge.

"Yes," she whispered, locking her eyes with his. "Yes, I want you to train my voice."

Erik felt such elation at her words that he almost fell off the piano bench. But he hid it all in his heart and simply nodded his head to her. "Wonderful. Now, first order of business," he began quite seriously, "is to get a proper night's rest. We will begin early tomorrow," he rose from the bench and brushed past her towards his bedchamber. A brief shock of electricity passed between them as she felt his arm brush her shoulder. She cursed the dress she was wearing, knowing that it looked horrible on her, and then wondered why she was caring at all about what she wore in front of him.

"Goodnight monsieur," Christine called out, her back to the Phantom, before slowly walking towards the entrance that led out of his music chamber.

"Christine?"

She came to a halt as she heard her name being spoken on his lips for the first time. She felt a strange fire burn between her legs as the words dripped off him like warm honey. She slowly turned her head and glanced over her shoulder at him. Once more, he was standing in the entryway between his two chambers, filling it deliciously with his broad body.

"Do you like your room?" he simply asked, his eyes boring deeply into her own.

She swallowed and simply nodded her head. "Y-y-yes…thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," he whispered back, before turning and disappearing like a ghost into the shadows of his bed chamber.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension begins to grow between Erik and Christine, and the two struggle with their internal thoughts towards the other... (WARNING: this chapter contains a "male solo-sex" scene.)

_**Desires** _

She wasn't going to get any sleep that night. She had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, and was finally succumbing to the fact that she was simply not going to get any sleep. Why? Because she felt she had somehow made a deal with the devil himself.

After her surreal encounter with the Phantom, she returned to her chamber and threw herself onto the bed, praying that sleep would come to her, feeling utterly exhausted by everything that had taken place, not to mention the strange feelings that were swirling around in her head…and heart.

He liked her voice, he thought she had talent, he knew her name! She moaned softly as she remembered the way her name dripped off his lips, like honey melting off the comb. His voice was so hypnotic; deep, rich, soft. Did he sing? Christine believed that a musician of his talents must be able to sing. If he sang to her, Christine knew that she would faint away from the first few chords his voice brought forth.

She groaned and fidgeted some more. Why was this happening to her? He was her kidnapper! Why was she feeling this way? This wasn't some dark romance that she read, this was real; and he had stated quite plainly to her that he was no hero with a happy ending to offer. She was young, true, with what some would call "frivolous dreams", but she was also realistic and level-headed. She had dreams of romance and adventure, but she knew the line between dream and reality…and this was cold reality. He liked her voice, he thought her talented, but that was it! He was in this for himself, for his own opera, not for her. She had to keep telling herself that, or else she would be in danger of…of…

No, she would not think it, for if she did, then she would be in danger of believing it. She did not have feelings for this Phantom! She didn't! She groaned again and crushed her face into the pillow.

All she could see was him; his strong arms and broad shoulders filling that doorway between his chambers. The way he carried himself; regal and mysterious, like a cat stalking its prey. She remembered how he had somehow come around and blocked her way out of the chamber, and how he approached her, his great height towering over her, his fingers rising to stop her lips from speaking. His face may be scarred under the smooth mask that he wore, but she could not remember a time when she had found another man so handsome and desirable as he was in that moment.

Oh God above, she needed help. She did not understand such feelings, such passionate desires that were coursing through her blood. Her mother died before she had a chance to talk about such things, and her father, bless his heart, well…a girl could not ask her own father such things!

No, she must force herself to put away such thoughts and focus on the bargain that she had agreed to. Her freedom depended entirely on how well she sang for him. She had no doubts that he would be extremely demanding, and she had no doubts that she would come to despise him during those long strenuous rehearsals. But she would have to keep reminding herself that with every note, with every song, with every hour that passed while she sang…would bring her one step closer to her freedom. She should be smiling with joy at such thoughts!

…why did she feel so unhappy then?

Christine threw the blankets off and sat up. How she longed for a book! That was what this beautiful room was missing, a simple bookshelf filled with stories to tame her anxiety. Perhaps she could borrow some of Rudolph's books, or maybe Erik could find-

Erik. His name alone sent a strange shiver down her spine.

Christine looked down at herself then, a disgusted look passing over her features. She was still in the same drab blue dress she had worn since the night she was taken prisoner. The dress still had remnants of mud and blood stains from the night she escaped, and while Suzette had been able to sew up the horrible rip that Joseph Bouquet had caused, it still looked awful. It was beginning to smell as well, despite the wash it had received the night she brought Erik back to his underground lair.

The sound of falling water drew her attention to the small waterfall and pool that lay in the far corner of her room. She remembered the perfumes on the dressing table and glanced over, wondering if there was any soap. To her happiness, she saw a small bar of rose-scented soap, next to a basin and pitcher. There was also a white fluffy towel that lay beneath the soap. Christine rose from the bed and dashed over to the soap and towel, a blush covering her cheeks at the thought that was forming in her head. She gathered the items and then went over the pool, the smile immediately fading.

It was too small; the pool was not even deep enough to cover her whole body. But then she noticed a tiny opening against the wall. Yes, the water was leading out of the chamber! She left her chamber and followed the sound of water around several large jagged rocks till finally, she came to a clearing, streaming with moonlight upon the gentle waters of an underground lagoon. Her face lit with such pleasant surprise at her discovery. She blushed and wondered if she was safe from any prying eyes.

The others were further away, and no doubt sleeping. Besides, she remembered Suzette assuring her that no one would disturb her unless she asked for anything. And Erik…

She blushed at the thought but quickly shook her head. He was asleep, of course, and would have no interest in seeing her at all till time came for their rehearsal. No, this was as good a time as any.

Quietly and quickly, Christine shed her dress and undergarments, before being welcomed into the cool refreshing waters.

* * *

He wasn't going to get any sleep. He was trying, by God he was trying. He needed the sleep, especially after the new discovery that was made about the costume girl. She could sing! And not just any song, but his own! Erik knew he was being arrogant but he couldn't help it!  _Don Juan Triumphant_ was a masterpiece, his masterpiece, and Christine was the first woman he had ever encountered that could sing the part as if she were the living breathing character of Aminta herself!

All he could hear was her voice, beautifully ringing loud and clear in his head. The way she sang those songs, it was outstanding! Yes, she badly needed some training, but she was a miracle all the same! It would be early, it had to be early, he could not wait till mid-morning, let alone mid-day to begin her lessons. But he would mold her and prepare her for stardom, and that was exactly what she would become…a star of opera!

Something deep inside him tugged at the memory of the deal that he made with the girl. He was so desperate to get his hands on her voice that he would have done anything for her…and that's exactly what he did. He promised her the freedom he knew she longed for in exchange for his opportunity to train her to play the part. It was a fair bargain after all, it was what they both wanted…yet that strange tugging feeling worsened at the thought of her leaving for good.

Erik took one of the large pillows and crushed it against his face. Damn it! He was not going to go through ANYTHING like this again! He remembered the pain of pining away for the lovely dancer, Marie, and the jealousy that burned within him as he watched her give herself to the young future Vicomte de Chagny. He had been such a fool, writing her stupid love poems and songs of his affection, all the while hiding in the shadows while she bragged them to the other ballet girls, thinking they were coming from Raoul. How he longed to wrap a noose around the man's neck!

Love was a curse. He learned long ago that when one had needs, they were best settled with a "professional" than with cards and poems. And that was all he was feeling…lust; simple blind lust. It had been a long time since he had last had a woman. In fact, he had not gone above to see any of the prostitutes since the night that silly girl had entered his life. He needed a long hard fuck with one of the many ladies of the night, preferably against an ally wall; they were quicker that way, and Erik never went inside with these women.

Yes, that was it; he just wanted to feel a woman's legs wrapped around him and bury himself inside a woman's hot moistness. This girl was indeed pretty, and he felt his body begin to stiffen at the memory of seeing her standing before him, in her undergarments, the rain falling around her, causing the fabric to be nearly transparent. That was all he wanted, a female body, not this particular girl.

Then why was it that he could only think of her?

Damn this wound! If he could move about better, he would abandon all thoughts and go above to lose himself with one of those women. Yet a part of him, deep down, knew that no matter how many hours he spent in a prostitute's company…his lust would not be truly satisfied.

He threw the blankets back and rose from the bed, praying that music would be able to soothe the savage need that was coursing through his blood. Yet the second he sat down at the bench to his organ, he found that he could not bear to play. It was all because of her! If he began to play, the thoughts of her face, of her body, of her voice would come streaming back, and there would be no hope for him at all then.

He buried his face into his hands and leaned against the instrument, groaning to himself. Dear God, what was he going to do? He was going to go mad! Only one thought came to him…he had to see her.

It was foolish, and he felt like a fool for even thinking it, but he knew that if he didn't see her, he would explode! They didn't have to speak; she didn't even have to be awake, for no doubt she was sleeping. But he needed to see her all the same, just to have one look at her beautiful face, to remind him of the ugliness that was beneath his mask, to remind him of the life he could never have. And then his desire for flesh would be transformed into anger, and music would flow from his anger like rain in a storm.

With new determination, Erik rose from the organ bench and grabbed a linen shirt, throwing it over his head and quickly darting out of his chambers. And then a new thought stopped him short…

Christine had been wearing this horrid looking dress, in fact, if he remembered correctly, she had been wearing the same dress those last few days! He could see the remnants of the mud from the ally that caked it, not to mention the blood of both himself and Joseph Bouquet that soiled it as well. Someone who was going to be trained to become a star needed to look the part as well.

He had a task, and this was exactly what he needed, something for him to focus on what this was truly all about, making his opera become a reality. He hurried as quickly as his healing body would allow to the costume cages, the place where he had her first imprisoned. He couldn't help but grin slightly at the opened door. He went inside and plucked several gowns that hung from the cage's wires, all of which looked to be the right size, and then quickly dashed back to where her chamber lay.

It was quiet as he approached, and he could tell that all but one of the oil lamps within the chamber was lit. She was most likely asleep, which meant he could simply leave the gowns near her dressing table without her knowledge. He felt strange as he approached the entrance, like a boy almost, and he ground his teeth at the thought. What was wrong with him? He held his breath as he came around the entryway to her chamber, wondering how she would look…would she even be dressed? What should he say if she saw him? He looked at the bed where she lay…and frowned. She was not in the bed, and he whirled around, realizing she was nowhere to be seen!

Erik swore under his breath and threw the gowns onto the bed. No, he would not lose her now, not after he had heard her sing!

He stormed out of the chamber, prepared to go on a crazy search throughout the whole labyrinth, when a splashing sound caught his attention. He turned his head towards the sound and heard it again. And a smell filled his nostrils, the smell of…roses?

His brow furrowed in confusion, Erik followed the sounds and the strange smell, easily moving in the darkness and around the rocks that blocked his path, till he saw moonlight fill an open space. It was the lagoon, the secret underground lake that lay beneath the Opera House that no one knew existed. He had no idea where the splashing sounds were coming from, the water looked still, as if nothing had disturbed it. But something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and his mouth fell open when he saw the dress and what lay beneath it lying in a pile by the lagoon's shoreline.

And then, a great splash sounded off to his left, and Erik's eyes went wide as the sight of the beautiful naked Christine emerged from the waters.

Her back was to him, but it was all he needed to see in order for his heart to skip a beat. Before she had the opportunity to look over her shoulder and catch him, he darted behind a rock, the shadows shielding him from the moonlight. He knew how to disappear in the shadows, he had been doing so his entire life. From his hiding place he found himself staring at her back, the creamy skin moist from the cool waters, the curls of her long brown hair dripping down that luscious skin. He gasped when she dove one more time beneath the waters, catching sight of her rounded hips and delectable bottom. And when she emerged again, she was facing him now, and he thought he had never seen such beauty…

Her hands were in her hair, smoothing it from her eyes. The water lapped at her breasts, beautiful round pale orbs crowned with hard rosy nipples. Erik felt his mouth water at the sight. She was smiling as she slowly waded towards the shoreline, fetching a bar of soap that she began to lather across her skin. He took in everything; her legs were slender, the hips and thighs round and creamy…and at the center, the doorway to paradise. Erik's eyes were locked for the longest time at the dripping curls that nestled between her thighs, and he groaned inwardly, never before feeling so hard as he did right now. She was a goddess…and he knew that if she beckoned him at that very moment, he would be her slave for life.

Christine had no idea that he was there, which perhaps fascinated him most of all. The way she bathed herself, the way she ran the soap over her skin…it was so innocent, and yet it drove his desire beyond anything he had ever felt. His cock was beckoning for release, begging him to do something, even if it was simply to wrap his own hand around it. But he pushed the thought away, forcing himself to turn away from the beautiful sight. She mustn't know he had seen her. However, he couldn't resist playing a little…

Christine rinsed herself clean one last time before finally being satisfied that she had wiped away all the grime from the last few nights. The water had been most refreshing indeed, and Christine felt that perhaps she would make this a habit every night. She emerged from the pool, wiping her body with the towel before placing her chemise and pantaloons on her body. Her skin was still slick from the water and she knew that the pale fabric did very little with covering her skin, however it was only till she got back to her chamber…who was going to see her?

She fetched her dress and the rest of her things and headed back to her chamber, humming one of the songs she had sung for Erik that evening. She was so merry from her bath that she didn't realize before it was too late, that she wasn't alone in her chamber.

"Lovely evening for a late night swim, don't you think?"

Christine gave a high-pitched shriek when she saw Erik standing before her, his large strong frame leaning against one of her bedposts, his arms folded across his chest, his face unreadable as usual…although she thought she could see something of a smirk, despite the mask.

"W-w-w-w-what a-a-are you d-d-doing here?" she stammered, clutching her dress to her body, trying to conceal as much of herself as she could.

Erik couldn't help but grin a little more at her behavior. Truly, he had never thought she looked more delectable, more delicious, than she did at this very moment. He felt the stirring in his loins again, but he ignored it. "I simply came to see how you were, my dear," he said simply.

Christine stared at him, blinking for several seconds before she found her voice. "To…to see how I was?"

Erik nodded his head. "And I can see that…you've more than made yourself at home." She gave a squeak as she realized his eyes were raking over her body, and clutched the dress against herself even tighter.

"W-w-w-well, I'm…I'm doing very well, thank you," she replied, lifting her chin and trying to show him that he did not intimidate her one bit.

Erik could only grin more at this. "I'm glad," he whispered, and then looked at the dress she was clutching to herself and frowned. "And I thought perhaps…you would appreciate some new clothes."

Christine stared at him with confusion, and then gasped as his hand indicated to the gowns he had placed upon her bed. Forgetting for a second that he was in her room, standing near her bed, and she was only wearing her undergarments, Christine went to the bed and with tentative fingers, touched the beautiful fabrics that lay there. "Oh they are lovely!" she exclaimed.

"Yes…" Erik agreed, although he wasn't looking at the gowns.

Christine glanced up and blushed even more as she realized how close they were standing to one another. She quickly took a few steps back, her knuckles turning white at how tightly she clutched the dress to her body. "T-thank you, monsieur," she whispered, looking away from his burning eyes.

Erik could not take his gaze off her, the urge to take her in his arms was burning every fiber of his being. He was not a stranger to sex, but he had never been with a woman on a bed, surrounded by softness and the scent or roses, and that was exactly how she smelled and he knew that would be how she would feel. Soft and sweet…God how he wanted her.

"You are most welcome, mademoiselle," he whispered back, before taking a few steps back from her as well.

The two of them locked eyes with each other and in that brief moment, a shock of electricity went through them both. It was Erik who broke the spell, saying, "Since we are both awake, I see no reason why we should waste time any further. Quickly get dressed and then come to my chambers and we shall begin." Without another word, he turned on his heel and left her alone in the chamber.

Christine stared at the space where he had been standing, her breathing slightly ragged and her legs trembling. She reached out to grip the bedpost in order to keep from melting away. Oh heaven above, she was lost.

Erik didn't stop moving till he reached his chamber. Once there he retreated into his darkened bed chamber and collapsed upon the bed, groaning as the lust surged through his body. He could not help it, he found his hands reaching down and gripping his throbbing organ and stroking it with hopes to find release. Erik rarely touched himself, he was always disgusted with the simple thought of his body, but now, he could not help it, all he could think about was her body, her beautiful body rising from the water, and her sweet voice filling his ears, and her fiery spirit, matching his own, even when she was afraid. He imagined her body tangled with his, her voice singing the song of pleasure and passion, and her spirit boiling with his own as together they strove to reach the pinnacle of their desires.

Erik cried out as he came hard from his thoughts, groaning the satisfaction of his release as his body went limp and his breathing became ragged. Never had the thought of a single person have such an effect on him. And never had he felt such desire before.

However the pleasure quickly disappeared as he felt his own stickiness upon his fingers. He was disgusted with himself and rose to quickly wash his hands and change his trousers. He was a monster, simple as that. He knew it, and he had a feeling she knew it as well. So what if she had seen him several times without his mask, he knew she would never be attracted to him, and while once upon a time he had thought of making her a personal slave to his every lustful whim, he knew he could never–WOULD never do such a thing to such an angel.

Angel. Yes, that was what she was. Not a goddess but an angel, something that was far out of reach, something he could never obtain, no matter how hard he repented.

His anger grew more and more with each passing second. Anger for his deformity, anger for her beauty, anger for the world that would never truly accept him. He stormed into the music chamber, seating himself at the organ and began to play with such furious passion, none like he had ever felt.

He played for a long time, losing himself in the music, before he felt her eyes upon his back. He would always feel her eyes upon him, especially after the incident when she removed his mask. "You're late," he muttered, his playing never ceasing or missing a beat.

Christine's mouth fell open at his words. She had been as quick as she could; she just hadn't been sure which dress to wear. The costumes were all so lovely, but they were designed for acting, not for walking about in or…for rehearsing in. Erik turned then and eyed her, his gaze judging her from the start.

In truth, she looked beautiful, wearing a royal blue peasant gown that the character of Marguerite wore in "Faust", but he was a man who wore masks, and so he masked his pleasure at the sight of her, and instead, stalked past her to his piano and seated himself, opening the music before him.

"Right…let us begin," he instructed, playing the first few notes on the score before him.

Christine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. _Oh heaven above, what have I gotten myself into?_

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are growing at the opera house; tensions to follow the Phantom's demands, tensions for Christine as a singer, and tensions to learn what became of the Monsieur Daae and his daughter...

_**Tension** _

"Firmin! Oh thank God, I have to speak with you at once!"

Firmin turned to see a breathless Andre run to his side, his cheeks red and puffy from exertion. The older man groaned and began rubbing the bridge of his nose, already having a bad feeling about what his partner had to say. "Don't tell me…"

Andre gasped, but nodded his head. Firmin groaned. "That makes the twelfth one we've received this month!" he cursed.

Andre, finally having the time to catch his breath, groaned with frustration along with his business partner. "We've been receiving notes filled with threats about allowing Carlotta to perform, about changing the opera season, and…well…" Andre handed the note to Firmin. "I'm afraid, this one is once again, about that unknown opera…"

Firmin swore. "Not again! I don't care who this…prankster thinks he is! I happen to agree with the Vicomte, we shall not be intimidated by some foolish, masked-"

Andre hissed at Firmin to keep his voice down. They were in the grand foyer of the Paris Opera House, where people of fashion came to lounge and discuss whatever gossip was going about society, and several heads had turned to overhear Andre and Firmin's passionate discussion.

Andre gently pulled Firmin's arm and led the older gentleman to their office where they could not be heard. Once the door was shut, Andre turned to face his partner. "I know that you think me a fool for saying this, let alone believing this-"

"Andre-"

"But I'm starting to believe that…that these letters are not the work of an idle prankster!" he was sweating profusely, and Firmin had noticed that Andre seemed very jumpy. He kept looking around, as if trying to make sure they were truly alone and no one would hear what they had to say. "I too believed that all those notes and tales we had heard about the infamous 'Phantom of the Opera' were simply jokes that Joseph Bouquet had played in order to scare the ballet girls…but…Firmin…these threats…they are becoming real!"

Firmin groaned and collapsed into his desk chair. "Now see here Andre, the only reason that we are receiving more of these letters is because we are not reacting to them the way he had in the past! The prankster is trying to scare us, and from the looks of things," he muttered, adding the note Andre had given him and throwing it into a pile with the other notes they had been receiving, "I'd say that our so-called 'Phantom' is getting desperate."

Andre shook his head. "Firmin, do you not remember the last two performances?"

Firmin shuttered at the memory. Nearly three weeks ago, Carlotta was scheduled to perform, and on the day of her performance, a note had arrived, threatening that the understudy should go on in Carlotta's place, or else a great scandal would occur. Needless to say, the managers ignored the letter, as the Vicomte had instructed. However, they found themselves eating their words when that evening, Carlotta went on stage, and her voice went from singing…to croaking!

To the horror of everyone on stage, plus the managers, Carlotta could not stop croaking! She finally fled the stage, screaming–if that was what her croaking was meant to sound like–and the patrons demanded their money back.

Only two days ago, Carlotta was scheduled to perform again, and yet once more, another letter filled with threats arrived. This time, it said that if her understudy did not go on for her, a fear greater than anything they had known would come true.

This time Andre summoned the Vicomte de Chagny for advice, but the Vicomte, like the last time, told the managers to ignore it. Carlotta was eager to perform and show whoever this prankster was that he could not mess with her! But 15 minutes prior to when the curtain would go up…Carlotta went missing. She was not in her dressing room, she could not be found anywhere back stage…it was as if she had vanished into thin air!

Carlotta's understudy was to go on while the managers and the police searched high and low for their beloved prima donna. The understudy, a girl who was never given the opportunity to learn the opera, let alone perfect her singing skills, went on to give a most mediocre performance. Once again, the patrons demanded their money back, and the Opera House lost all its profits.

Finally, an hour after the bad performance had ended, Carlotta was discovered locked in a broom closet, a scarf in her mouth, a blindfold around her eyes, and her hands tied to her ankles. Pinned on her sleeve was a note that read "I hope, dear gentlemen, you will not test my patience further."

Andre needed no more proof; he truly believed the Phantom was real!

Firmin was still skeptical, mainly because he felt someone around here had to be. True, the letters had been coming faster than ever before. Strange demands were being made, such as changing the opera season, adding a new opera by an unknown composer titled _Don Juan Triumphant_. If the managers agreed to the Phantom's terms, the threats would end and the score would be sent for the orchestra and company to practice.

If these demands were not met, more outrageous scandals would occur. Costumes, props, and tools had already gone missing, some of the patrons' lounges were ransacked, and members of the staff were threatening to quit for fear of ghosts that they swore they had seen. The Phantom was haunting them because he was upset for the Opera disobeying him, or so they believed.

Still, Firmin held close to the fact that this was all some elaborate trick to make both him and Andre look like fools. He had several suspects; he knew the elaborate opera company in Vienna was jealous of the Paris Opera company's success, and it was rumored that Brussels was willing to pay a handsome fortune to have La Carlotta appear for the rest of their season.

Something had to be done and fast, especially before Carlotta learned about Brussels.

"That note is yet another demand that we push everything else off the opera season and devote all our time to this…this _Don Juan Triumphant_!" Andre muttered, running a hand over his sweating face. He could see the money they had made fly out the window.

"Calm yourself, my friend," Firmin grumbled. "We will do nothing of the sort; we will continue things as they are scheduled-"

"But Firmin-"

"Now is NOT the time to be changing things!" Firmin hissed, rising from his chair and glaring out of the glass at the people that casually strolled about the grand foyer. "If we change things we will lose more money than this…this PHANTOM could ever cost us!" he turned and faced Andre, the annoyance and frustration that he felt towards this unknown prankster clearly written across his features. "Our patrons…especially our most powerful, will not tolerate changing the season that they wanted…especially if we do it for some…some unknown piece of…we don't even know what it's like, we've never seen it!"

"But Firmin-"

"And furthermore Andre, we can not simply…cut Carlotta off the opera season! I mean, you saw how much money we lost those last two performances! The people want to see her and no one else!"

"But Carlotta is threatening to leave!"

Firmin's face paled at this news. "W-w-w-when did you hear this?"

Andre groaned and removed his handkerchief, using it to wipe his brow and nose. "Just before I received the letter…she…she is getting fed up with her treatment here in Paris, not to mention the horrible reviews that have been coming in ever since the opening gala."

Firmin's voice was a hushed tone and he leaned forward so no one could hear him, despite the fact that it was only the two of them in the office. "Does she know about Brussels?"

Andre shook his head. "Not yet, but…" his voice trailed off, afraid to even comprehend the thought of his money flying out the window.

Firmin nodded his head, groaning at the thought of Carlotta's shrieks of rage for her displeasure. "Then there is only one thing that is to be done…" he sighed. "Send word to the Vicomte."

* * *

Suzette sighed and shook her head, sympathy written all across her withered face as she handed Christine a hot cup of tea. "Drink this my dear, it will soothe the vocal chords," she whispered. Christine gratefully took the cup, her throat feeling so tight that it was hard to accept the warm liquid, which burned as she swallowed it.

One month. She had been in this underground place for an entire month, and yet it still felt as if only yesterday she had been taken prisoner.

Prison. Yes, that was exactly what this place was. She had been foolish once upon a time to think that it was something more, that she was in a mysterious romantic gothic fairy tale and that the Phantom was her dark prince.

Ever since he discovered the truth about her singing capabilities he had become a most militant teacher, commanding her to sing beyond the brink of what was humanly possible for her. He was ruthless, summoning her at odd hours whenever inspiration struck him, to perform the scores of music he had composed the previous night. When he told her that he would be demanding, he was not joking. Every day it was the same: they would start with warm-ups which consisted of a wide variety of scales, her voice being stretched to the far ends of the sound spectrum. Following the warm-ups came time to practice the great works of the masters of opera. This would go on for hours, and every now and then Erik would stop his playing to reprimand her for doing something wrong, and to teach her the story and history behind the work she was singing.

The final hours of rehearsal were solely dedicated to his opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. There were many songs that he had composed that Christine liked, such as the two she had sung the night he learned about her voice. But there were others, many of which were extremely difficult, and over all, while the music she thought was brilliant…she could not find herself liking his opera as much as he did. Perhaps it was the story–Aminta was a beautiful woman and Don Juan was a grotesque figure who lusted after her. Like most operas, the story ended tragically, although in this particular opera, the part that Christine truly could not stand, was the way that Aminta betrayed Don Juan, even after professing eternal love for him. Aminta seemed so passionate, and so sad, but the sudden character change was too extreme. She loved Don Juan, but for no reason, betrayed him by sleeping with another man, and once Don Juan discovered her treachery, killed both her and her lover, before falling upon his own sword–this was of course after he had sold his soul to the devil, ala Faust.

Christine couldn't understand how Erik could compose such a story…but then, she knew he hadn't had the easiest life.

She whimpered softly in pain as she felt the hot liquid burn her throat. She could feel the healing vapors of the tea begin their affect, yet it still hurt to swallow. She was in danger of developing a serious throat disease, Suzette thought. Her brow furrowed at the thought of Erik's cruel meticulousness.

"I'll have to have words with him," she muttered under her breath, but Christine heard her.

"No," she said hoarsely, before taking another sip of the tea. "I'm alright, truly…and I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to have him train me."

Suzette raised an eyebrow at this. She had a feeling Christine didn't know what exactly she had gotten herself into, but she knew that Erik must have promised her something in return for allowing her to be so strictly trained. Suzette knew that music was Erik's greatest love; it was the only thing he could depend on. Therefore he was going to treat anything harshly when dealing with his love for music. She recalled how Erik had informed her and the others that he was going to become Christine's vocal teacher, and that unless it was a true emergency, he was not to be disturbed. If he needed them, he would call for them, but otherwise, he wanted to be left alone.

Suzette sighed and began cleaning the kettle that the tea had been boiled in, wondering what had come over Erik. True, she believed Christine's voice was very beautiful; she had heard it echo off the cavern walls and throughout the tunnels, yet it was something else that disturbed her. Erik was obsessed, so obsessed that he was truly losing coherent thought and sense when it came to, well, anything really, but especially to the limits Christine's voice could go. If Christine didn't say anything to him, then someone had to…and she had every intention of telling him what she thought.

"How are the lessons coming along?" Suzette casually asked while scrubbing the kettle.

Christine swallowed another gulp of the hot tea, feeling the soothing effects on her throat, but no smile came to her lips at Suzette's question. "Oh…wonderful, truly," she lied, taking another sip.

Things had changed, in Christine's opinion, ever since she came to his chamber for her first rehearsal.

She was foolish to think that Erik had truly changed, despite the small kind acts he had bestowed. After creating her room and giving her the dresses, Christine thought that perhaps there was a chance that she and Erik could be…friends. She blushed at this thought, thinking herself stupid for even contemplating such a thing. Why? Why had she even considered that she wanted to become his friend? She sighed, knowing that it was because she was afraid of the strange feelings that…that he was awakening within her. Perhaps she would be safe from such feelings if they were friends.

She wanted to get to know Erik more, he was fascinating to her; a tragic figure with a passion for music, a romantic that hid in the shadows, a man with so many secrets, and yet he seemed to be yearning for something…acceptance? Recognition? She figured those were the most obvious reasons, and through his opera, he may finally achieve them. This was what drove him, as he had explained to her during their rehearsals. Finally, for the first time ever since he started composing, he could see something of his become a reality, and despite Christine's humility, he told her over and over that no other voice could sing the part.

When Erik first said this, Christine remembered blushing and denying the truth of the matter, but she could not help but smile somewhat to his compliment. Yet now she frowned, realizing that it wasn't a compliment, that he didn't admire her or her voice, he simply wanted to use it for his opera. It didn't matter that it was her voice, it was the voice of "Aminta", and that was all he cared about.

From that first rehearsal, his true colors showed brightly, just as they had the night he took her prisoner. He was cold and cruel, barking commands and directions that were hard for her to follow, shouting at her when she didn't do something right, and having her repeat lines and scales over and over again, demanding perfection, always insisting on perfection. For one whole month it had been like this; she had no idea that hell would look like a piano. Once she thought she would love the rehearsal times with him, thinking that she would get to know her mysterious seductive captor, but she was wrong. He was a cruel taskmaster, and she dreaded rehearsing. In fact…she was beginning to hate singing.

_I should be happy_ , Christine thought to herself. _This is what I wanted, a reminder that I should despise him with every fiber of my being and not allow my stupid, girlish fantasies to take control of my mind...or heart._

Suzette saw the girl's expression darken more and more as she reflected on her rehearsals with Erik. Suzette was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of all this. "My dear," she sighed, putting the kettle aside and taking Christine's free hand in her own, "you may be a prisoner here…but you deserve kindness. You should demand it, you-"

"You're late. I've been waiting for over twenty minutes."

Both Suzette and Christine gasped upon the cold dark voice that echoed off the cavern wall. In the faint candlelight of the entryway stood the Phantom, his head lowered, his body covered in black, his cape draping down from his shoulders like a bat's wings. He was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Suzette's brow furrowed at his coldness. "She can't sing," she said with contempt. "Her voice needs to rest-"

"Since when did you become an expert of the human voice?" Erik snapped, his eyes falling on Christine who stood before him, shivering under his intense gaze, but he could see her spirit slowly rising to the challenge.

Suzette was shocked by the tone of voice Erik had used. He had yelled before, but…this was different. This was a man she did not know! She opened her mouth to say something but Christine stepped in front of her. "As soon as I finish my tea, I will be ready," she said calmly, taking another sip from the cup.

Erik glared. He was in no mood to test how far his patience could go. "You will come, now," he growled.

Christine ignored him and took another sip, relishing the brew that slid down her throat, knowing it would be the last pleasant thing she would feel for a long while. She knew that she was being stubborn, but Erik needed to be taught a lesson. She wanted her freedom, now more than ever, and she had not forgotten the bargain that she had made with him. But she had learned how desperately he needed her too, and unless he started treating her with some respect, she was not going to come like a dog whenever he wished.

Erik growled, tired of this power play, and reached out and grabbed Christine by the wrist, yanking her away from Suzette, causing her to both gasp and drop the tea cup. "Don't EVER make me wait again!" he hissed, before dragging her out of the cavern and down the tunnel that would lead to the music chamber.

Christine protested the whole way, telling Erik to loosen his grip, telling him that he was hurting her wrist. She was suddenly reminded of the Vicomte de Chagny dragging her to his lounge at the Opera House, much to her displeasure. Both men were vile in her opinion; at least the Vicomte didn't hide the fact of his intentions. It was obvious he was trying to seduce her. Erik may not be doing that, but he was prostituting her voice as far as she could tell.

Finally they reached the music chamber and he released her, only after almost hurling her towards the piano. She glared at him while he went around and sat down, his fingers crashing on the keys. "Now, since you've wasted away our warm-ups, you'll just have to go right into singing-"

"No." Christine was just as shocked as Erik when she realized what she had said. She had enough! She was a human being! She demanded to be treated like one.

Erik's eyes widened at her words. "No?" Christine lifted her chin in defiance and Erik's fist came crashing down on the piano keys, causing Christine to jump at the thunderous sound it made. "NO?" he growled, rising from the bench and causing it to fall over. His eyes were the color of fire and he glared at her with such fury.

Christine felt the terror grip her, but she knew she couldn't show it, that she had to be strong and stand her ground, so she glared right back at him. "My throat hurts…and my voice is tired…" she said hoarsely. "Suzette is right, I need to rest it."

Erik's eyes became fiery slits. "I am your teacher…" he growled. "I will tell you when your voice needs to rest!"

Christine's blue eyes became a storm that sent a threatening message back. "And it is MY voice and MY body!" she hissed back. "And I know it better than anyone!" she spat, leaning towards him, her shoulders squared and her jaw set.

Erik stared in awe and disbelief at the defiance she was having towards him. She should be shaking in terror! But here she was…arguing with him, the Phantom of the Opera! He was not in a sick bed now, he was towering over her, his very form threatening her…and yet she refused to back down.

"You forget your place," he growled.

"It's right here in front of you," she hissed back.

"You forget who I am…that I'm the one who controls whether to release you…or let you rot in this pit!"

She lifted her chin and took another step closer, her whole body shaking with anger and her heart pounding loudly in her ears. "And you forget, monsieur, that your masterpiece would still be gathering dust if not for my voice!" it was a selfish remark, but he had made it true from everything he had said…and he knew it.

Erik was a man who tolerated many things, even when he disapproved of them. But insulting music…especially _his_ music, was something he would not stand for. With panther-like speed, he was around the piano and had Christine by the shoulders, turning her and pinning her against the piano and his body. She cried out in pain as she felt the piano dig into her back and gazed up at him with hate. How had she ever fancied herself attracted to him?

"I have never killed a woman before…but you're not making it difficult for me to imagine!" he spat, shaking her by the shoulders, angry, and yet very much aware that he was against her, his body molded against her own.

"You're a MONSTER!" she screamed, before spitting in his face.

Erik growled, ignoring her action and squeezing her extra hard, causing her to cry out. "I could kill you now, you know, I could crush you with my own hands!" he threatened.

She looked up at him and said in a voice filled with such deadly calm, "my spirit would still be free."

Erik did not know what it was; the calm coldness in her voice, the cool bitter glare that she returned to him, or simply the fact that the two of them were so close, but whatever it was…he felt a weakness that threatened to consume him. He was so close to her…so very close…his eyes, which were wild and fiery, glanced at her lips…moist and pink…so inviting. He could kiss her, he wanted to kiss her, but he was furious with himself and with her for being right. Her words stabbed him deeply, for it was true; no matter what he tried to do to exert his power over her, it wouldn't matter, because the truth was he was her slave…slave to her voice, slave to the music, slave to these strange sensations that she had been stirring within him ever since he clamped eyes upon her. Before that; ever since he heard about her from Madame Giry! This girl was going to be his undoing, and while it was tempting to lose himself to the uncontrollable urges of passion that were roaring through him, he had to grasp at some sanity, what little of it he contained.

He pushed himself quickly away from her, his eyes wild as he stared at her, watching her as she grunted from the pain of her back being held tightly against the piano. She whimpered slightly and rubbed her back and her arms, her eyes still cold and ruthless, matching his own wild stare.

He had to get away from her. She had to leave, now, or else…God help him, he was unsure what would happen, but he had to get her away!

"Leave!" he barked, turning his back on her, fighting the rage, fighting the urge to turn around and either strangle her…or take her in his arms and ravish her on the piano itself!

Christine was shocked by both his reaction and by his command. She did not understand this man, nor did she think she truly wanted to. But she herself could not deny the strange electricity that passed between them.

But it frightened her; his rage, the change of his mood, and her feelings for him that still seemed to be as strong as before. He was right…she had to get out of there.

"GO NOW!" he shouted again, his roar causing the cavern walls to shake. Christine didn't need to be told again, she fled from him as fast as her legs could carry her.

He watched her go and cursed under his breath. Damn him! Damn her! Damn everything! What had just happened? He had almost lost all control and he could have killed her.

"What is wrong with you?"

Erik was surprised by the voice that interrupted his thoughts. He looked towards the entryway to find Suzette standing there, her face pale and her eyes wide; she looked at him as if for the first time, she was horrified by the ghastly scars on his face.

"Erik…I…I do not know you! You are not the man that I remember…you…you are a stranger to me!"

His heart was breaking as he heard her words. Suzette, who had been a mother to them all, the only recollection of a mother he knew he would ever have, and she was afraid of him. It was so unusual to hear her call him by his name…but the way she said it was as if she were trying to bring whatever ounce of humanity back before the beast took total control. "Why are you doing this…w-w-why are you pushing her so? I…I thought…"

Erik wanted to be alone. Her shame was more than he could handle, he was ashamed with himself. He simply wanted to be left alone, alone with his music…

"Please go away Suzette," he whispered.

She ignored his plea. "I don't understand Erik…I mean, after she brought you back…I thought things had changed. I thought that perhaps…perhaps…" she didn't know how to say it. Erik had made Christine a room fit for a princess. He gave her gowns, food, even shared with her his most beloved compositions…Suzette thought that surely Erik was changing into a better man. That perhaps somewhere in his cold heart…he was learning to…to love. It was a foolish notion, she knew, but she thought it perhaps possible. Yet now…now her fears that this whole month of bitterness and obsession was driving him beyond the brink of madness, looked as though they may perhaps be true. She had followed them both and watched in horror as Erik attacked her. Christine had called him a monster…perhaps the girl was right?

"It does not matter what you think," Erik hissed coldly, turning his back on the tiny woman and retreating into the darkness of his bed chamber. "Leave me alone Suzette."

"Erik!" she cried out. "What is it that you're so afraid of that you must do these things?"

He paused but did not look over his shoulder. "Myself," he whispered.

* * *

Raoul groaned as he shut Carlotta's dressing room door behind him. He quickly did up his trousers and began to briskly head towards the managers' office. He was angry; upset that the idiots could not control the spoiled soprano and had him sent to come and calm Carlotta down the only way that he knew how. He could still smell the outrageous perfume that she wore; it made him want to vomit.

Once upon a time, Carlotta proved to be fun. Now, she was soiled goods that he would not bestow upon his lowest servants. Her screeching and jealous rages were more than he could handle. He remembered how she mewed with pleasure to the filthy names he had called her while he was fucking her. Ironically, he meant every single name.

Carlotta was now sated; her threats to leave Paris were over…at least for a while. At this point, Raoul would gladly be rid of the bitch, yet she still proved to be an icon, and as such, the tickets continued to sell. However, the last two performances had lost him more money than gaining it.

He was prepared to storm into the managers' office and release his rage when he caught sight of Madame Giry speaking to her daughter in a hushed tone. Normally Raoul avoided the stone-faced ballet mistress like the plague, but something intrigued him about this conversation she was having.

"I don't understand why you have to leave now?" Meg asked, looking confused at her mother's strange behavior.

"I will not be long my dear, just go through the dance as I have taught," Madame Giry muttered as she pulled on a pair of black gloves.

Meg's green eyes clouded with even more confusion. "But we need your guidance-"

"You will be fine," Madame Giry assured. "Now go on Meg, I will return shortly." Meg nodded her head, but still looked worried for her mother. Satisfied that her daughter would not ask any more questions, Madame Giry quickly turned on her heel and headed towards the grand foyer. Intrigued, Raoul quickly followed at a safe distance.

Madame Giry had a carriage waiting for her and gave the driver the directions of her destination. In thirty minutes the carriage came to a stop outside a tall building that looked as inviting as its cold stony exterior. Madame Giry did not hesitate; she walked up to the door and banged the loud iron knocker that hung in its middle. The door opened a few seconds later, a chamber maid curtseying as Madame Giry brushed her way inside. "I need to speak with Monsieur Francois, is he available?" she asked the maid as she stripped her gloves off.

"Right this way, madam," the maid replied softly, showing Madame Giry to an oak door at the end of a dull dilapidated hallway. The maid knocked on the door to which a gruff male voice grunted permission to enter. Madame Giry followed the maid inside, thanking the girl after she was introduced.

Monsieur François was a short man, with a balding head, a greasy black beard and mustache, and he appeared to have several teeth missing. The man also wore excessive amounts of jewelry, not to mention outrageous colors and fabrics on his body. No wonder the building looked so drab; the man spent every penny on his own attire.

"Have a seat, madam," François said politely, although he was already admiring the purse she held in her hands. "What can I do for you?" he asked again, the same polite friendly tone in his voice, however Madame Giry did not smile or bat one eye as she sat, her back straight, across from the greasy man.

"I understand, monsieur, that you are a…private investigator of sorts?" she asked, eyeing him with much contempt.

François however had not recognized her distrust in him and was beaming from ear to ear. "Indeed madam! In fact, while I am a humble man, I do pride myself on being the best that one can find here in Paris!"

"So I've heard," she muttered.

François continued beaming. "Yes, I have worked for many of the great families here in Paris, including the Countess LaGrange! Why, she hired me to find her sister who had been missing for 25 years…25 years, can you imagine! I had very little information to go on, but I did find her! She was staying in Moscow, now that I remember-"

"Yes, yes, that's all very good monsieur, but I need you to find two people," Madame Giry interrupted.

François' expression changed at her words. "Oh I see…well…I must say madam, it will be somewhat more expensive, you see…tracking two people down. Not to mention that it may take longer-"

"Do not fear monsieur, you will be paid quite handsomely."

Gone was François' apprehension, his beaming smile returning at once to her words. "Splendid!" he exclaimed before pulling himself closer to the desk before him. "Now who are these individuals that you'd like me to find?"

Madame Giry watched him closely as he took notes on what she was saying. "The man's name is Daae," she explained. "He's in his 60's, short, thin, with gray hair and a gray mustache and beard. He's Swedish, but has been living in France for quite some time," she paused to be sure that François had gotten everything she said thus far. "The girl's name is Christine, she is his daughter. She's the same height of her father, perhaps somewhat taller, with curly brown hair, dark blue eyes, which are the same color as her father's. About 20-21 years in age," she explained.

François nodded his head as he wrote down the descriptions. "And you believe that they are in Paris?" he inquired.

Madame Giry shrugged her shoulders. "Monsieur Daae and his daughter worked very briefly for the Paris Opera House. Monsieur Daae is a violinist," she explained, before adding, "I would appreciate it, monsieur, if you left the Paris Opera House and those that are connected to it…out of your list of inquiries."

François' brow furrowed at this, but nodded his head. "I shall do all that I can madam," he said while rising from his chair to show Madame Giry out. "And I shall inform you at once when I learn of anything."

"I would like to be informed within a week, monsieur."

François practically stumbled at her request. In truth, it was more of a demand. "A week?" he choked. "I beg your pardon madam, but…a week is hardly enough time to learn anything!"

Madame Giry lifted an eyebrow at his words. "I thought you were credited as being the best? After all, did you not tell me that you had been able to find the sister of the Countess LaGrange who had been missing for 25 years?"

François cleared his throat, straightening his jacket. "Well, I do not wish to brag…but there are those that have esteemed me as such," he explained. "But you must understand madam, the Countess LaGrange was a woman with connections! It is much harder to find, forgive me, a common violin player and his daughter."

Madame Giry slowly rose from her chair and handed the private investigator a small card. He took the card, looking most confused, before glancing at the name, his eyes widening as he read it. "The Marquis Clamont?" he gasped.

Madame Giry nodded her head. "Monsieur Daae told me that Christine's mother, his late wife, was the daughter of the Marquis Clamont." François simply glanced back and forth between Madame Giry's calm features and the card he held in his hand. "I believe, monsieur, since connections are what you seek…that will be a good place to begin."

"Indeed," he whispered, tucking the card into his inside coat pocket. "One week…I will contact you and tell you everything that I can," he murmured.

Madame Giry gave a thin smile to the private investigator before producing a check from her purse and placing it on the desk. Like a greedy child who had just been given candy, François snatched the check, his eyes wide as he read the numbers. "As a down payment," she explained, before putting her gloves on and walking towards the door. "I must stress, monsieur, how important it is that you find them…I pray that you will not delay the search."

"No indeed madam," François replied, tucking the check into his coat pocket and rushing to open the door of his office for the ballet mistress. With a curt nod, Madame Giry walked out of the stone building, leaving the bewildered investigator to take in everything he had just been told.

"Lucille!" he cried, and the chambermaid from earlier, came quickly. "I will be out all afternoon, on business…in fact, I will not be able to take any new clients for at least a few weeks," he instructed. The maid gave a small curtsey, handed her employer his hat and walking stick, and opened the door for him.

François nodded his thanks before descending the stone steps of his building and heading west. He had just gone around the corner when a large silver-tipped walking stick struck out from the shadows to stop him. François cursed as he nearly tripped over the stick, prepared to unleash his anger at the individual, but swallowed his words as he gazed upon the handsome face of the Vicomte de Chagny.

Raoul gave a wry smile to the investigator, glancing briefly ahead of him, and watching the coach that carried Madame Giry, head north. "Whatever she's paying you…I'll double, for the same information."

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptions change; both Erik and Christine look at one another differently...as does Raoul.

_**Changes** _

Erik was pacing in one of the shadowed tunnels of the underground labyrinth. But it wasn't simply any tunnel…it was the tunnel that led to her chamber.

He cursed himself over and over as he paced, feeling like such a fool for being there. What was he doing there anyway? He ran a hand through his black hair, knowing the full reason why. She had called him a monster…and she was right.

Ever since the night he heard her sing and saw her bathing in the lagoon, he did not trust himself around her. She was beautiful, seductive, and had the voice like an angel. Music was his greatest passion, and she embodied music. She had shown him countless times that she was a unique woman. She had a spirit that did not cower before him or other men, she stood by those she loved, her nature was kind, and she was not so easily blinded by the illusions others created in front of her…like the Vicomte de Chagny. And he still didn't understand why…why when she had the chance to run away and be free, that she returned to the Opera House, and helped nurse him back to health. Was it pity that she felt for him? If so, he didn't want it, and perhaps that was why he was so cold to her.

But he knew it was more than that. It was not pity that he saw her give to the others; she had become a close friend to all of them…with the exception of Jacque who wanted nothing to do with her…although Erik had noticed that Jacque was less grumpy these days.

No, she didn't pity him, pity was the last thing she felt towards him. Erik sighed, knowing he had been cruel, that he had been ruthless. Yes, he had warned her he would be hard and demand much from her, but…he had been blinded by his own discovery of her voice to forget that the voice belonged to someone…and he had not made that realization until he had her in his arms against the piano.

He groaned as he remembered how she felt in his arms. She was trembling slightly, but it was out of anger and contempt. That was not the way he wanted to feel her against him. Erik knew it was impossible, she would never allow such things to happen…but he longed to feel her tremble willingly in his arms, to feel her sag against him and clutch at him for strength. He groaned again and felt his loins stir at the thought, but he quickly shook the thought from his head.

When Suzette had asked him what he feared, he could not look into the old woman's eyes, for the answer would reflect in them. Over twenty years ago Erik had watched as a woman he believed himself in love with throw herself at another man. He had felt so happy in those days when he wrote her songs and poems, watching her from afar, ready to protect her at all costs if someone dared to attack the beautiful dancer. But Marie was like all the others; a handsome face with money flattered her dancing, filled her head with sweet compliments, and within the blink of an eye, she was on her back with her legs spread wide for the spoiled Vicomte. Erik knew since that day that love was a weakness designed to make men go mad. And that was exactly what he was experiencing all over again with Christine…madness.

So he resorted to treating her like an object instead of a human being; after all, that was how he was treated for the first seventeen years of his life. By being cruel he would not be able to care; and she would come to despise and hate him, which should insure that the damn stirrings within his soul and heart would disappear. But he was wrong…

He devoted himself to music, composing and conducting, loosing himself in his masterpiece. He wrote letters to the mangers, demanding that they prepare for his opera, knowing he could not wait; he wanted it to be performed before the season was over. He threatened them, frightened them, even kidnapped Carlotta, and yet still he could not get the girl out of his head. He had gotten to the point when he was able to separate her voice from herself…but that all changed when she refused to sing and he became violent.

He hated himself for that. He had done many things in life that he was not proud of…but he truly felt that was one of his lowest moments.

So here he was…pacing in the tunnel near her chamber. Suzette didn't tell him to come and apologize, to go and speak with her…he just felt the need to do it himself. But he still felt like such a fool.

"I'm being more of a fool for standing out here," he grumbled to himself. With a sigh, Erik descended down the tunnel, prepared to look like an absolute idiot.

Christine was lying on the bed on her stomach, gazing at the tiny trickling waterfall that poured into the tiny pool. Her throat was beginning to feel better, however the rest of her felt sore from the fight that she had had with Erik. She wanted to hate him, felt she had every right to, but still, no matter how hard she concentrated, there was still a part of her that wanted to embrace him, to show him that not everyone in the world was cruel, to teach him happiness and…and…affection?

Christine groaned and buried her face against her pillow, unaware that she had a visitor.

"Is this a bad time?"

Christine gasped and turned around at the sound of Erik's voice. She stared up at him as he stood in the entryway of her chamber, his broad shoulders practically touching both sides. She swallowed the lump in her throat and quickly sat up, smoothing the skirts to the yellow and blue dress that she wore, one of the many costumes he had given her.

"I…I am not prepared to sing, if that is what you have come for," she said, trying to sound angry, lifting her chin and looking stubborn.

Erik fought the grin that was trying to break free from looking upon her expression. "I have not come here to ask you to sing," he explained.

Christine stared him, unsure what to say next. What was it that he wanted then? The anger on her face disappeared, now replaced by confusion, which Erik could not help but smile a little at. She frowned when she noticed his smile and rose to her feet, squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze. "You may see yourself as lord and master of this labyrinth monsieur…but this is my room, therefore I demand that you tell me what business you have and then be gone."

Erik stared at her, somewhat flabbergasted at her words. Then, remembering the reasons as to why he had come in the first place, he too stood straighter and folded his hands behind his back. "I…I have come to…to…" good God, why was this so hard?

Christine folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to finish whatever it was that he was having great difficulty with saying.

He grimaced at her expression and finally came out with it. "I've come to apologize." There, he'd said it.

Christine stared at him. That was the last thing she had been expecting.

"I…I beg your pardon?"

Erik groaned. "Fine, I'll say it again if that will suit you, I apologize for the way I treated you…for the way I have been treating you…" he whispered, his gaze falling to his feet.

Christine stared at the man who stood before her, tall, broad, dressed in black, his white mask giving off a persona that was ice cold. Yet she knew he meant every word.

"The truth is…music has been the only thing that has given me joy in this life," he continued, his gaze never leaving the ground. "And when I heard your voice…" he paused and looked up at her, his amber eyes catching hers. "I meant it…and I still mean it, your voice is unlike anything…it's…it is exquisite," he sighed, not being able to think of better words for such a beautiful instrument. Christine blushed at his words, her own eyes falling to the floor this time. "And when I heard you sing that night…I just…you have no idea what this opera means to me," he rushed. "I have been working on this opera for most of my adult life, and…and when I heard you sing, I simply…I have never felt more inspired…" he whispered, his eyes burning as they gazed upon her.

Christine felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but she could not look at him, she was afraid that if she did, she may melt where she stood.

"I know I have not been the easiest of people to get along with," he grumbled, "and I did warn you that I would be hard…but you were not expecting a slave-driver, I'm sure." She lifted her eyes then, feeling his genuine regret. "And…while I want this opera performed more than anything, with you in the role of Aminta…I do not want to be your task-master."

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Erik raised his hand to silence her. "I do however want to be your tutor…and a proper tutor at that, someone who cares about his protégée…and not simply the music she is singing."

There, he had said his peace. He wasn't expecting anything from her, and he wasn't saying he would stop being strict, but he was hoping that she would still sing for him. The idea of her not singing again, the idea of him not being able to hear her angelic voice…it was more than he could bear!

Christine nodded her head slowly, looking down quickly so that he would not be able to see the blush on her cheeks. "Thank you…" she whispered. There was a long pause before she realized he was waiting breathlessly to hear whether she would still sing for him. "Yes, I would like to continue learning with you, monsieur." After all, what choice did she have? It was still her only key to freedom.

Erik wanted to smile and shout to the heavens, but he contained himself and gave a small bow. "Thank you, mademoiselle," he said simply. "And…please, call me Erik." Where had that come from? Erik couldn't believe what he just said and imagined what an idiot he must have sounded like, however all those thoughts drifted away as Christine whispered his name for the first time to his ears.

"Erik…you are most welcome, Erik."

Erik gave another bow, turning to leave, but stopping quickly. "How is your throat feeling?" he asked, his eyes lit with concern.

Christine couldn't help but smile a little. "It is getting better, thank you," she whispered.

Erik was glad to hear it, but his concern was still etched across his features. "Suzette was right…and I'm sorry I pushed you despite it. Tomorrow you continue resting your voice. If you're feeling up to singing the day after, then we shall begin again."

Christine smiled and thanked him again. It was hard to believe…but it did seem that he truly had changed!

"You're very welcome mademoiselle," he replied, and then turned to go again.

"Christine!" she called out. Erik who was standing in the shadowed entryway emerged back inside, like an animal of prey rising from the shadows. Christine had to grip the bed post in order to keep her balance from the seductive sight. "It's only right, I think," she quickly explained. "That if I am permitted to call you Erik…then I wish for you to call me by my name."

"Christine," he practically purred, and she tightened her grip on the bed post.

"Goodnight, Christine," he whispered, and then without any warning, he leaned in and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing the knuckles ever so softly. A sharp current of electricity streaked throughout her body.

"Goodnight…Erik," she whispered, watching him turn and leave her alone in her chamber, with nothing but the strange feelings that scorched through her heart to keep her company.

* * *

Raoul tapped his cane impatiently against his boot as he sat and waited for François to organize himself in his tiny cold office.

It had been one week since their last encounter in the ally near François' building. One week since Raoul cut a deal with the private investigator to inform him of everything he was seeking out for Madame Giry. And he was beginning to lose his patience…

Things were getting complicated with the police keeping Daae behind bars. Daae was proving to be an expensive chore; Raoul had not expected a whole month to go by without word from Christine. And the police themselves wanted to be rid of the man; twice he had to convince them not to send him to the nearest asylum, and hold him just a little longer.

When he learned that Madame Giry was seeking the aid of a private investigator, Raoul felt that at last an answer to his prayers was coming! But now he was having serious doubts as François clumsily cleared his desk from the piles of papers and cigarette butts that littered it.

"I beg your pardon monsieur, I was not expecting you…" he quickly explained, hurrying as best he could.

Raoul gave an aggravated sigh. "Do you have any information at all, monsieur? I am a busy man and-"

"Oh! Oh I do monsieur! Information that you will take great pleasure in, I believe!"

Raoul eyed the private investigator, feeling serious doubt, but waving his hand at the man. "Have at it then."

François straightened the tie at his neck and folded his hands on the desk before proceeding. "I am not sure if you are aware monsieur, the connections that Daae and his daughter have in society."

Raoul rolled his eyes at this. "What sort of connections do a violinist and a costume girl have?"

"Well, very large ones, monsieur," François grinned, before taking one of the papers he had shuffled through and passing it towards the Vicomte. "This is the birth certificate of the one and only daughter of the Marquis Clamont."

Raoul eyed the piece of paper and handed it back to François. "And this means…?"

"Well, you see, nearly twenty-two years ago the Marquis Clamont's daughter was discovered to be in a state of marriage that was most disagreeable."

Raoul waved his hand in an irritated manner, urging François to continue. He hated dramatics.

"Apparently, although no one entirely knows how, the girl met a young Swedish immigrant by the name of Daae!"

Raoul practically fell out of his chair. He stared at François, the expression on his face both shocked and disbelieving. "What are you saying?"

François grinned. "That the child produced from the disagreeable marriage…is the granddaughter of the Marquis Clamont."

Raoul was in total shock. Christine Daae, the costume girl, the country bumpkin…had noble blood running through her veins? "Tell me more," he urged, leaning forward and eating up every piece of information.

"Well," François continued, putting on some spectacles and leafing through some more notes. "As you can imagine, the marriage was never accepted by the family and the girl was shunned from both them and society. Yet she lived quite happily with the man known as Daae on a country farm where they had their first and only child, a daughter, named Christine."

Raoul nodded his head. "You have proof that this was the exact man?"

"I made some inquiries with the household of the Marquis Clamont, as well as traveled to the farming village that Daae and his family lived," his expression changed to one of sadness. "Quite tragic actually; while Daae and his bride lived contently with their daughter, the Marquis and his family never spoke to her again, shunning her completely, and after the poor woman died five years ago, the Marquis seized the land that Daae lived on and sold it, thus forcing the violinist and his daughter off the property."

Raoul could care less about this. "Yes, yes, extremely tragic," he groaned sarcastically. "But tell me about the granddaughter's connections to the Marquis? Was her mother disinherited from the family?"

François shook his head. "Most the villagers believed so, but from a conversation I had with the Marquis' household, apparently not! While the girl was shunned for marrying Daae, the Marquis never changed his will! She was promised a hefty allowance after the death of her father, and that allowance would be passed on to any children that she may have."

Raoul stared at François with wide eyes. Christine was rich. She had a fortune waiting for her…and from the sound of things, the girl was not even aware of it.

"What of the Marquis?" Raoul asked, leaning against François' desk, desperate to learn all that he could. "Is the man in good health? I thought I heard rumors that he had fallen ill…"

François sighed. "Sad, but true. The household informed me that the Marquis is in a bed ridden state. As you can guess, he is a very old man, with extremely poor health and it is believed he will not last past this upcoming winter."

"Utter tragedy," Raoul whispered, images of the Marquis' money appearing before him.

"And that's not all!"

Raoul awoke from his day dream and stared at François like a starving person. "Tell me…"

"Well, this granddaughter of the Marquis is the only living relative. The Marquis had three children, two sons and a daughter. I learned that the two sons had died years ago; one was in the army and died in battle while the other…well, sad to say, he had a bit of a gambling problem, and he was shot when caught cheating at cards," he sighed. "The poor wife of the Marquis killed herself by slicing her wrists open after learning that her eldest son was dead. And the Marquis has no other living relatives. So, if it is as the household has told me and the will has not be changed…not only does this Christine Daae receive her mother's fortune…but also the land and all the titles that go with it upon the Marquis' death."

Raoul was like a dog, salivating for a beef bone. Christine was rich; she was nobility; she was an heiress.

…And she was totally unaware of it.

"Monsieur?"

Raoul awoke from his thoughts and looked at François with wild eyes. "Have you told Madame Giry any of this?"

François shook his head. "I have not seen her yet, but I am expecting her at some point today. Shall I tell her the same news?"

"NO!" Raoul barked, before quickly calming himself, running a hand through his blonde hair and fixing his jacket. "No…in fact, tell her nothing. Simply explain to her that you were unable to learn anything from the tip that she gave you but that you will continue trying."

François nodded his head, watching the Vicomte intently as he rose to his feet and began to pace across the small office. Christine was an heiress! A single woman of great fortune! Raoul knew that one day he'd have to marry in order to create an heir for his own title, but he had resorted to waiting another five years before taking such steps. Yet now…now the lovely Mademoiselle Daae had landed on his lap with her great fortune; and to think he was only interested in bedding her!

No, now Christine Daae proved to be a much "worthier" cause for discovery. He had to find her before she learned about her fortune, before her grandfather died! By marrying her, he, being her husband, would come into full rights for the land, title, and all that went with it. And by God, he could use some of that money; his own gambling debts were climbing higher and higher, and the Opera business as of late was proving to be more of a headache. But with Christine as his wife…it was the beginning to a life of endless possibilities! He just had to figure out what to do with the old man…perhaps he could still serve his purpose as an object for blackmail?

"Monsieur?" François asked nervously, not sure if it was wise to interrupt the pensiveness of the Vicomte.

"Have you learned anything else?" Raoul asked.

François shook his head. "Not yet monsieur, but soon! I understand that Monsieur Daae and his daughter were last seen at the Paris Opera House-"

"Forget the old man," Raoul ordered. "In fact, don't waste any more of your time in this investigation on him…I want you to spend all of your time, morning, noon, and night, on learning the whereabouts of his charming daughter."

François opened his mouth, prepared to protest, but remembered the handsome payment the Vicomte had offered him and remained silent. "What shall I tell Madame Giry?"

"Anything, make-up whatever you want," Raoul grumbled, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "But find me that girl…and I promise you François, I will make it very worth your while."

Raoul left the stone building of the private investigator, the look on his face extremely pleasant and satisfied. He climbed into his carriage, whistling a jolly tune, much to the surprise of his driver. "Home, monsieur?" the driver asked.

Raoul grinned. "No my good man, we have some shopping to do!" Raoul said with good humor. "I have a wedding to plan…"

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it possible for two people who have not known each other for very long and who have such different perceptions of one another...to become friends?

_**Friendship** _

Christine awoke that morning feeling energized and happy, a feeling she had not had in a long time. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned before she realized what day it was.

Today she would begin singing again.

One week ago Erik had told her she needed to rest her voice. Originally it was for a day, but he later informed her that a week would truly be more suitable and thus gave her strict instructions on how to take care of her voice, from drinking Suzette's special tea to doing breathing exercises that would help her draw upon the strength of her diaphragm for support rather than her throat.

Christine had to admit, when he informed her of this, she was somewhat disappointed.

Truth was, her voice and throat felt much better; however she followed her tutor's instructions, although she was saddened by the simple fact that it would be a while before she could rehearse with him again.

She didn't know why she was eager to rehearse with him, after all, the other times had been grueling and stressful; yet now…after he came and apologized to her, she found that she couldn't wait to see him…and be alone with him again.

She liked how her voice pleased him. She tried to not let his praises go to her head, but now and then she couldn't help but feel like a star, a prima donna in the making. She just hoped and prayed that if she ever got her chance to perform on stage in a leading role, she would not become like Carlotta.

The days that passed during her resting period were long and rather dull. She tried to pass her time by doing specific activities, such as helping Suzette repair holes and sew new clothes for the others, to being an audience for Rudolph who was so excited at his progress with learning to read. Gustave showed her how to get around the tunnels of Erik's labyrinth, and what to watch out for if she ever got lost. Christine was adapting more and more to her underground home; her eyesight was growing keener in the darkness, and her ability to know what time it was despite the shadows that surrounded them was improving as well. Even Jacque was beginning to become comfortable with her presence, even though he continued to keep his distance. She recalled how earlier in the week the three men came to her chamber announcing that they had specific instructions from Erik to build Christine a fireplace. They set to work right away, Jacque supervising for the most part, demanding that it be perfect. Several hours later, their work was complete, and Christine had a cozy little fireplace to keep her chamber warm as the late autumn nights grew colder and colder. She thanked all of them and it was Jacque who replied a simple, and somewhat gruff, "you're welcome", before turning and leaving. Christine could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile on his lips, but she knew that he would never admit it.

The week went on slowly, and while she was grateful for the company of Suzette, Rudolph, Gustave, and yes, even Jacque…the person she longed to be with most kept himself hidden away in his chamber, composing.

Sometimes late at night, Christine would lie in bed and listen to him playing his organ. She had never realized what a beautiful instrument the organ was until she heard him play it. Sometimes he would play sonatas by the great composers, other times he would play what she assumed were his own creations. But all of them were beautiful, and she would be lulled to sleep by their haunting lullaby.

It was two days before the end of her resting period when she finally saw Erik again. She was in her chamber, sewing a patch onto one of the dresses he had given her which she had accidentally ripped, when he announced his dark presence by silently standing in her entryway, not saying a word until she noticed his great form casting a dark shadow upon the ground.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice deep and rich, yet filled with genuine concern.

Christine couldn't help but smile, and quickly rose from the chair she was sitting at, patting out the crinkles in her skirt, and walking towards him, her hands folded in front of her. "Much better, thank you," she said brightly, blushing as she realized how silly she must sound.

Erik however smiled at her cheery tone, his own posture relaxing as well. "I'm glad to hear it…but we will wait till the week is over before we begin again," he instructed. Christine nodded her head, knowing that was what he would say, however she couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Are you practicing those exercises like I taught you?" he inquired, fully entering the chamber now and pacing around the small space. Erik couldn't help but feel somewhat out of place. The chamber was small and lovely, with lace and velvet and silk to decorate it and the smell of lavender and rose petals perfuming the air. Basically, it was everything he wasn't. He feared that if he turned too abruptly he may break something!

Christine smiled and blushed a little more. "Yes, every morning and evening for twenty minutes at a time."

Erik turned and smiled at her, feeling pride for his young pupil. Things were different now; her eyes seemed brighter and her face seemed to have this beautiful glow that radiated off her skin despite the darkness that surrounded her. He too felt the difference; once upon a time he feared that being close to her would cause him to lose control…yet now, he had resorted to not only be strictly "professional", but…somewhat friendly as well. He was sure that by behaving in such a manner, he would be able to keep his emotions in check, and not stress so much about their next encounter. Plus, his compositions were being inspired with new intensity and life! Indeed…he was glad things were changing.

"Good, keep it up. When we next meet to rehearse, your diaphragm will be able to help you with those higher notes, as well as perfecting your breath control for the longer sets." Christine nodded her head, a small sad frown forming on her lips as she saw him turn and head out of the chamber. "Oh!" he turned around and pulled something out of the pocket of his jacket. "I thought…perhaps you would appreciate these to pass the time?" Erik felt somewhat foolish as he held out a bulky paper package, imagining what he must look like.

Christine was surprised by the gesture, and noticing his embarrassment, quickly took the package from his hands, blushing as their fingers brushed for a moment, and then quickly unwrapping it. Erik winced. "You really don't need to do that now…" but it was too late, she had unwrapped it and gasped.

"The Bronte sisters…the poems of Lord Byron…and a collection of gothic short stories!" Erik was not expecting the reaction to which she had. Her face lit up like a star, her eyes glowed with happiness, and she actually began to jump up and down! "Oh thank you so much! I have missed reading, especially books like these!" Suddenly, without warning, Christine threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Erik did not know what to do! He was surprised to say the least! Before he had a chance to react, Christine suddenly released him, her cheeks aflame as she realized what she had done.

In that brief moment, Erik caught the smell of her hair, which reminded him of fresh cut roses and jasmine. He felt the smoothness of her cheek against his neck as she stood on her tip toes to hug him, and he felt the gentle swell of her breasts against his chest, which caused his body to stir with passionate awakening.

As for Christine, she had felt the strength of his muscles beneath his finely made clothes, and there was a pleasant fragrance about him…the smell of candle wax from the long nights he stayed up composing, and incense that he had burning in his chamber. It was a sweet masculine smell; she blushed for she did not know what men should smell like…but she believed that they should smell the way Erik smelt. "T-t-t-thank you," she stuttered, blushing furiously for her boldness. "How…how did you know?"

Erik straightened his jacket and shirt, his posture going stiff again. "I had the book of Byron's poems…sometimes I look to them for inspiration while composing…and as for the others, I…well, I found them…above…" In truth, the previous night Erik had gone above to the streets of Paris, keeping himself hidden in the shadows. There was an old bookshop near the Opera House that Madame Giry had gathered many of the books for himself and the others. Not being on present speaking terms with her was not making life easy for all of them, but Erik saw a boy in the same ally he occupied, looking very hungry. With his hat tipped low and the collar of his cape lifted high, he promised the boy several gold coins for food if he would fetch some books for him in the shop ahead. The boy eagerly took the list of books Erik had given him and set about on his task. Pleased with what the boy was able to get, Erik kept his promise and awarded the boy with enough money to not only feed himself and his family for that night, but for a whole week.

"Rudolph had told me how much you love to read…" he rambled on. "And…he also explained the type of books you liked. I just thought that perhaps…these would help, with passing the time…" he could kill himself for how foolish he sounded.

But Christine was more than happy. Books like these were childhood friends to her, and more than that; they reminded her of her mother and of the nights they would stay up late finishing the chapter they were currently reading, and then having to read the next for fear of what would happen to the heroine and her lover. "Thank you so much…" Christine whispered, so moved by his kindness that she felt some tears behind her lashes. She quickly blinked them away.

Erik gave her a soft smile before bowing, as he seemed to do whenever they were together, which made her feel like a princess. Before he turned to go, he glanced at her fireplace, seeing the small but warm glowing embers burning in its center. "Are you warm at night?" he asked, once again showing her some genuine caring and concern. "Is the fireplace doing its duty?"

Christine smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, thank you, it's very lovely."

Erik smiled and bowed once more, before retreating into the shadows beyond her chamber. Christine listened as his footsteps faded away into the distance before leaping with joy once more and jumping onto her bed with a large flop. She grinned as she picked up one of the books, settling back for a wonderful adventure of gothic mystery and romance.

And that was how she spent her last few days of resting. Now the morning had come when she would begin again. A part of her was somewhat worried; had things truly changed between her and Erik? True, they seemed to be friendlier now, and he was showing her more kindness than before…but what would happen when she started singing again? Would the task-master resurface? She knew that he would still be demanding and strict, but would he be considerate and caring as well?

She shook her worries away, feeling that today was the beginning of something new. Today she would sing for him not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She loved music just as much as she loved her books. And she would show him the same passion he had for music, and perhaps then they could truly grow into what she hoped for, more than anything…friends.

* * *

"And again…" Erik commanded, his long fingers brushing over the keys of the piano with both delicacy and precision.

Christine nodded her head and took a deep breath, singing the familiar cords once more.

"Think of me…  
Think of me fondly  
When we've said goodbye…  
Remember me,  
Once in a while  
Please promise me, you'll try.  
When you find,  
That once again you long,  
To take your heart back and be free…  
If you ever find a moment,  
Spare a thought for me."

Erik stopped playing and Christine bit her lip. What had she done wrong now? They had been rehearsing for about two hours now, and for the last hour they had been working on _Don Juan Triumphant_.

When she first arrived, Christine decided to wear a purple gown with lace ruffles that she remembered Erik admiring once in the past. When he first caught sight of her entering his music chamber, his breath caught in his throat. She looked beautiful; beyond lovely, and it wasn't the dress, for he had seen her wear that dress before. It was the way her hair fell about her face, the way her blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight, the way her smile spread across her fine features. Erik rose from the piano bench and bowed, to which she gave a gentle curtsy. "Monsieur Erik," she greeted, with a warm smile.

"Mademoiselle Christine," he greeted back, feeling a smile break across his own hard features. She approached the piano with confidence, ready to sing, but before they began, Erik had her go through a few breathing exercises once more, just to be sure she was ready. He cursed himself when he realized that his eyes had drifted to the sensuous rise and fall of her breasts while she went through the exercises. _A professional instructor does not leer at his student,_ Erik inwardly reprimanded. He then began to play some scales on the piano, to which Christine sang back to him.

After the scales, Erik chose to play some Italian arias for Christine to sing. "On 'la'," he instructed, and she followed his lead. "You need to support yourself more during this bar; sneak a breath in if you must, although you need to try and get to a point when you can fully rely on your breath support to get you through." Christine nodded her head and did as he instructed, going over the arias several times before Erik felt she was finally gaining confidence in her breath support to get her through. At this point, he felt it was time to move to Don Juan.

For the last hour they had been practicing various songs that Aminta sung in the opera, and for the last twenty minutes, they had been working meticulously on one of Aminta's main songs, "Think of Me." If Christine had to pick, she would have to admit that this was her favorite song of Aminta's. However, there were little things that caused Erik to moan and groan over; she needed to carry the notes further, she needed to remember her cutoffs, she needed to save her breath for this bar, not that one. Yet Erik's suggestions were not like before; yes, it was obvious that he was demanding perfection, but now, instead of dreading to sing, Christine felt encouraged, even empowered, to do better. She too wanted it to be perfect, and so each time he asked her to sing it again, she did, with new confidence that she was going to get it better.

She looked at him after he had her stop, wondering what she had done wrong and what she needed to do better. She waited for his instructions, but instead, he was staring at her, a small smile slowly spreading across his face. "That…was perfect," he whispered.

Christine stared back at him. "A-a-are you sure? Because…I thought that perhaps I stumbled a little there with those notes around the second measure-"

Erik found himself chuckling. "Good God, I've created a monster," he laughed, grinning up at her and smiling as he saw her smile back. "You sang that beautifully…and I would like it very much if you could sing the whole thing now, no stopping, and with as much confidence that I know you possess. Let your spirit shine through Christine," he instructed, his voice dark and sensuous, causing shivers to run up and down her spine. She nodded her head and listened as the introduction to the song began again.

"Think of me…  
Think of me fondly  
When we've said goodbye…  
Remember me,  
Once in a while  
Please promise me, you'll try.  
When you find,  
That once again you long,  
To take your heart back and be free…  
If you ever find a moment,  
Spare a thought for me."

He continued playing, conducting her with nods of his head, and Christine continued singing, closing her eyes and pouring her heart into the song.

"We never said,  
Our love was evergreen,  
Or as unchanging as the sea–  
But if you can still remember,  
Stop and think of me…"

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen–  
Don't think about the things which might have been…"

She opened her eyes then and looked directly at Erik.

"Think of me,  
Think of me waking,  
Silent and resigned.  
Imagine me,  
Trying too hard  
To put you from my mind.  
Recall those days,  
Look back on all those times,  
Think of things we'll never do–  
There will never be a day, when  
I won't think of you!"

Their eyes were locked with one another and Erik continued playing, for this was a large orchestral interlude in the middle of the song. Her voice was like heaven…he had never known such exquisiteness, that such purity could exist in such a world. And while their gazes were focused on each other, Christine didn't miss a beat, she continued singing when the interlude ended, closing her eyes and feeling the music wrap around her like a blanket.

"We never said,  
Our love was evergreen,  
Or as unchanging as the sea–  
But if you can still remember,  
Stop and think…"

She paused. In the song, she was supposed to continue and end like she had earlier, but instead she seemed to be lost in her thoughts. Erik was both puzzled and worried, and his playing immediately came to a stop. But before he could ask her what was wrong, her voice, like a crisp clear bell, rang throughout the cavern.

"A-a-a-a-ahhh! A-a-a-ahhh! A-a-a-a-a-a-a-ahhhhhhhhhhhh…." She carried the notes out as if she were performing a scale and Erik was at a loss.

Then, his instinct for music kicked in, and his fingers came crashing down on the piano, matching what her voice was doing for a large climatic finish.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhoooof me!"

His fingers hit the final cords of the piano, and they both let out long ragged breaths, each surprised and startled by what had just happened.

Christine slowly opened her eyes, the spell of the song coming to an end, and her lips curled in a beautiful smile. She had no idea what had just happened, but it was like the music had urged her to make the song her own, to possess it, to lose herself in its passionate cords. She looked at Erik, her smile bright and wide, but it quickly disappeared as she saw the dark expression on his face. He was displeased.

"I…I'm sorry," she whispered, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. "I…please, forgive me, I don't know what came over me…I just…I thought…"

"That you would improve the song?" he asked, lifting his unmasked eyebrow.

Christine paled. "Oh no! No, it's beautiful the way it is! I would never dream of-"

"There is no need to apologize," Erik interrupted, his voice entirely sincere. Christine stared at him, trying to read his eyes, to see if he meant it…and was surprised to see that he did! "It was beautiful…" he whispered. "You did something that I had never dreamed possible…and I am extremely humbled."

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Erik lifted a hand. "No, I mean it. You improved the song, greatly, and I don't want you to change it at all. I shall rewrite it tonight and add your valuable correction to it."

Christine was unsure what to say. She was flattered by his words, but she also felt embarrassed and disheartened for what she had done. Did he now think he was horrible? Far from it! His music was so moving, so captivating; let people say what they will about the great composers, Christine was convinced Erik was one of them. "Erik, I…I want you to know…"

"I think we have had enough rehearsal for today, my dear," he said shortly, his eyes not meeting hers. Christine bit her lip, feeling that she had indeed done something wrong.

"A-a-already?" she whispered. In the past, they would sometimes rehearse the whole day. "But it's only been two hours-"

"It was wrong of me to force you to sing all that time before," he simply said. "A good tutor knows when it is time to end for the day, and today is a perfect time. We have reached perfection my dear…there is no point with trying to out do it."

Christine could understand what he was saying, but she still felt responsible and guilty for what she had done. "But-"

"Please," he whispered, raising a hand and rising from the piano bench, his height and width towering above her. They were so close that they could feel the other breathing. "Don't apologize for what you have done…" his gloved hand reached out to brush away a few curls that had fallen across her cheek. Christine stood frozen as she felt the gentle brush of his leather-clad fingertips. Erik himself could have sworn that despite the glove, he could feel the softness of her skin. "I want you to promise me something…" his voice was rich and silky, his gaze hypnotic and locked with her own. Christine knew that no matter what he asked, she would not be able to deny him. "I want you to promise me that you'll never hold back, that you'll always share your thoughts, your ideas, and your feelings when it comes to music," his fingers gently continued brushing her cheek, his own eyes drowning within hers. "I want there to be truth between us…will you promise me this?" Christine read the plea in his eyes, and more than anything, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him she'd do anything he wanted, that she could never deny him, especially when he looked at her that way, and spoke to her so gently, and touched her as if she were made of hand-cut glass.

Somehow, she found her voice, and quickly answered him. "Yes," she whispered. "I promise you."

Erik felt relief flood him at her promise, and reluctantly withdrew his hand. He had been lost in her voice, in her song, and now simply in her presence.

And it frightened him.

"Now," he cleared his throat, moving away from her. "I suggest you go and rest your voice, and we'll begin again tomorrow."

Christine watched him as he gathered his parchment together and continued to move further and further away from her. She suddenly felt very cold, and wrapped her arms around her body, knowing that she must go, but wanting to stay more than anything. She was scared; scared of the feelings he was stirring within her, and scared of what it all meant. Could one's opinion, one's outlook, and one's very feelings towards a person change overnight or within a week? She would have said no once upon a time…but now, as she stood in the presence of the Phantom of the Opera…she had to admit that yes, it could happen. She did not see this man as her enemy anymore. She wanted to call him friend. And her heart…she was so confused with how her heart wanted to know him.

"Good day then," she whispered, giving a small curtsy, to which he responded with an elegant bow. She had hoped he would reach out and take her hand once again and kiss it, but he made no such gesture, and it was just as well, she thought. But before she left, she turned to him and said, "I just…I want you to know that…you may come and visit me whenever you like…" she felt the heat rise in her cheeks, knowing how foolish she must sound, but wanting him to know that he was welcome. "Good day," she quickly said, before picking up her skirts and rushing out of there before he could say anything to her.

Once upon a time Erik had told her he was not a princely hero at the end of a storybook romance; that day, Christine realized how greatly she disagreed with that thought.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a cold December morning, both Christine and Erik make several insightful discoveries about one another. And one in particular, leaves Christine most shaken...

_**Discovery** _

The rehearsals that followed the lesson when Christine sang "Think of Me" were very much the same. For two whole weeks, the two of them met, speaking politely to one another, sharing thoughts on the music at hand, as well as insights. Unlike the past, Erik was curious to what Christine thought of the music, especially his music, and if she had any ideas for improvements. He was civil to her, demanding, but cordial still. Every day he had something good to say about her singing, about how quickly she was learning, how greatly she was improving, and how proud he was as her teacher.

And that was the extent of their time together.

Christine was grateful for it, she liked being with Erik and looked forward to their lessons together. But the lessons always seemed to end far too early, and after the lesson was finished, she would not see him again until the next day at the next rehearsal.

And it was driving her mad.

She knew she was his student and he was her tutor, and thus, he was acting extremely professional as a good tutor should. But she longed for him to stop being that way, to open up some what, to talk to her and ask her about her feelings and thoughts to things other than music. Was music all he thought about? She knew the answer was yes, for after every rehearsal, he would keep himself hidden away in his chamber, to compose and work on his opera.

For two weeks this continued, and Christine did not know what to do. She felt she was being silly, that she had no right to complain, after all, anything was an improvement over how their lessons used to be, and that was something she did not want to go back to. But when she was in her chamber and she heard noises outside, she would stiffen and hold her breath, hoping it would be Erik. But every time that happened, it was Rudolph or Suzette, coming to see her or letting her know that dinner was ready.

Christine had gotten into the habit of eating her dinner with the others; she preferred it instead of eating alone in her chamber. There was a small dining area near the cavern that the others slept in, it contained a simple table with six chairs; the sixth chair always unoccupied. The meals were not fancy and often meager, but it was the company that Christine looked forward to the most; at dinner she would hear Rudolph telling her about his progress with reading, Suzette prattling on about the gossip she had heard from the ballet through the pipes in their dormitories, while Jacque would grunt and complain about something, and Gustave would end up joining Jacque in an argument. Yet the dinners were always wonderful and pleasant, no matter what the talk was about, and Christine would share her news on her lessons. But her eyes would often drift to the vacant chair at the table and a look of sadness would pass over her face.

She missed him dearly, and she missed him even more when she could hear him playing his music into the night.

It was extremely early one morning when Christine was awakened by something soft, wet, and cold hitting her cheek. Her face contorted as she wiped away at the intruding coldness, but she felt it again and opened her eyes.

Above her head, tiny white flakes were falling from one of the small cracks in the cavern's ceiling. She scrambled out of bed, her arms wrapping around her body, as the cold hit her. She lifted her hand to where the flakes were falling, catching a few in her palm and feeling them melt against her skin.

"CHRISTINE!"

Christine whirled around to see Rudolph, panting and grinning as he stood in the entryway of her chamber. "C-c-c-come and s-s-see!" he stuttered happily, before disappearing. Curious, Christine quickly grabbed her dressing gown and followed the joyful hunchback, hearing his cries of excitement coming in the direction of where the underground lagoon was. She finally reached him, seeing him jump up and down at the shoreline, and before she could ask him what had him so excited, she saw his reason…and her breath was taken away.

The ceiling of the great cavern above the lagoon had many holes that moonlight would stream through. Now, along with the fading light of the moon, were thousands of snow flakes that flew above the water like swarms of butterflies, sparkling in the light like diamonds. Rudolph was grinning happily, his tongue out to catch the flakes. "S-s-see?" he cried. "Snow! It's s-s-snowing!" he lifted his arms above his head and began to dance around, laughing as the flakes tickled his face. Christine couldn't help but grin. "The s-s-s-snow d-d-dances with you!" he explained. "D-d-d-dance w-w-with it, Christine! Dance w-w-w-w-with it!"

Christine laughed and found Rudolph's enthusiasm contagious; soon her own hands were lifted above her body, and her feet were twirling around in a circle. She grinned and giggled as she felt the snow hit her face, her eyes closing as the flakes stuck to her lashes.

"Master!"

Christine stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes flying open at Rudolph's words.

There, wrapped in the shadows, stood Erik, his body somewhat hunched, his arms, wrapped inside his cape, were folded across his chest, and the only thing that shown in the darkness was the soft reflection of the moonlight against his mask. And yet his eyes, which were locked on her, burned through her very soul. Christine's hands went to the collar of her dressing gown, clutching at its ends, her knuckles turning white.

Slowly, he emerged from his hiding place, coming towards both her and Rudolph. "Isn't t-t-t-this w-w-wonderful, Master?" Rudolph asked happily, his tongue hanging out to catch a few more flakes.

"Yes Rudolph," Erik answered, however his amber gaze never left Christine's face.

"This m-m-means t-that…that Christmas w-w-will s-soon be h-here!" Rudolph cried, his giant arms lifting heavenward to catch more snow flakes. He then turned his attention to Christine. "I l-love Christmas…w-w-we g-get presents, a-a-and Suzette cooks us a f-feast, a-a-and sometimes…s-s-s-s-sometimes-"

"Calm down Rudolph," Erik said gently, a small smile coming to his lips as he looked at the hunchback's excitement.

Rudolph blushed, but he continued hopping around happily. Christine smiled softly as well, turning her attention to Rudolph. "You celebrate Christmas?" she asked, somewhat surprised.

Rudolph grinned and nodded his head. "Oh yes! W-we each get a p-p-present…s-s-s-sometimes I g-get a new book! Or…Suzette w-w-will make me something! And t-t-there's a feast…and we p-p-play games…and s-sing songs…and Gustave r-r-reads from h-his bible, and-" Rudolph nearly tripped over his two feet from his excited hopping, but Erik reached out and caught the hunchback's arm, helping him find his balance. "T-t-thank you, Master," he whispered, blushing from embarrassment, but still very excited.

"You should go back to bed Rudolph," Erik instructed. "It isn't even dawn yet."

Christine watched Erik as he said these words, and Rudolph nodded his head, agreeing with his master that it was very early, and then dashing back down the tunnel he had come from. "G-g-g-goodnight Christine!" he called back, waving before leaving her alone in Erik's presence. Christine grinned and waved back at him, all too soon very much aware that she was alone with the Phantom.

A silence passed between them for a while. The awkwardness of the moment was almost more than Christine could take. "Is…is it so close to Christmas?" she asked, her hands tightening about her robe. She had lost track of what date it was since she had come there.

Erik's arms folded behind his back, his body straightening upwards, his gaze steady on the flakes that fell to the water. "Yesterday was the first day of December," he said simply, his gaze remaining on the lagoon.

As for Christine, she could not believe how much time had passed since she had come to be there. It was winter already, Christmas would be coming in a matter of weeks, and she had no idea how quickly time had passed. She wondered what her father was doing, if he was alright, and her heart ached at the sadness of missing him.

"I finished it last night," Erik whispered, his words interrupting her thoughts. Christine turned to him, her gaze one of confusion. Without looking at her, he answered her question. "The last song for _Don Juan_ ," he explained. "I want the company to begin rehearsing for it after the new year."

Christine's breath caught in her throat at his words. "So soon?" she whispered.

Erik then turned to look at her. "There is still some polishing to do here and there…I need to begin planning the stage directions, the lighting and art design, not to mention cleaning up the overture, but for the most part…yes, it is finished." He couldn't help but feel pleased with himself, and he looked at her face, his smile quickly fading at the worried pensive look that spread across her features. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Christine blushed at his question, shaking her head. "Nothing…just…I…I'm surprised, that's all…" she tightened her arms around herself even more, her gaze now focusing on the snow.

Erik eyed her suspiciously. "You are doing exceptionally well in rehearsals," he said simply. "There are still many songs for us to go over, but for the most part, you have perfected the role of Aminta better than I could have imagined," he said warmly, smiling down at her, still surprised that she did not share his joy. He cocked one eyebrow. "Christine-"

"Thank you, monsieur, I am pleased that I have won your favor."

Erik frowned at her words. "Monsieur?" he asked. "Don't be silly, you know you're doing exceptionally well, what's this talk about…winning my favor?" he turned to fully face her, frustrated that she wouldn't look at him. "Christine…tell me what's wrong." It was not a question; it was a command.

"Nothing is wrong monsieur, I-"

Erik groaned. "Again with calling me 'monsieur'!" he threw his hands up into the air, holding his temper in check before turning and facing her once again. "I've been noticing that this past week…you constantly refer to me as 'monsieur' instead saying my name."

Christine blushed. "I…I was simply being polite-"

"Polite?" he grabbed her by her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "You're acting childish is what you're doing, especially right now," he snapped. Christine looked up at him, knowing there was no turning back now. "Have I offended you Christine?"

Her eyes went wide at his question. "No, of course not-"

"You're lying," he growled, his hands gripping her shoulders again to keep her looking at him. "Tell me the truth…what is wrong? His hand gently reached down and cupped her chin, lifting her face to gaze back at his. "What have I done to lose favor with you?"

She felt like a fool. And that was exactly what he would think of her when she told him. She refused to cry in front of him, she would not show her tears, but even now she could feel a few betray her and fall down her cheeks. "What am I to you Erik?" she asked, feeling bold with her question, as well as foolish.

He was taken aback. "W-what?" he asked, releasing her shoulders.

"What am I to you? It is a simple question, is it not?" she asked.

What was she getting at? Erik was still unsure what to say. "Why are you asking this?"

Christine felt her jaw tremble somewhat. "I…I just…I'm trying to understand who I am to you…so I know how to behave with you," she whispered, feeling her cheeks on fire with embarrassment. Erik stared at her, dumbfounded, before finally opening his mouth to speak, but she silenced him by raising her hand. "Today is December 2nd, yes?" she asked. "That means…I've been here for…for well over a month…practically two! And yet…despite all that time you and I have spent together…" she bit her lip. "I know nothing about you."

Erik stared at her, his brow furrowed with confusion. He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued on. "I know about your history, yes, Suzette's told me that, but…Erik, you're the person I spend the most time with here…and yet you are a stranger to me." She sighed and refocused her attention once again on the lagoon. "I know so much about the lives of the others…yes, even Jacque!" she said, laughing somewhat at the amazement of it all. "Why…just yesterday, he was telling me that if he wasn't…wasn't cursed with how he looked," she was pained to say those words, "He would want to become a teacher at a university. Did you know what a genius he is with numbers?" she asked. "It's extraordinary, really! He longs to properly study mathematics, but knows he never will, which pains him more than those hideous tattoos and piercings those freaks put on him," she spat bitterly. She took a few calming breaths before continuing. "I know so much about the others…but you are the man I am with the most…" her eyes lifted up to meet his. "And you are a stranger to me."

Erik had to speak. "You came to this theater with hopes of becoming a singer, Christine, and that is what I am doing! I am trying to help you become a great singer! But that means maintaining a professional teacher/student relationship as any professional singer would know-"

"Then why do you insist on such informalities as first names!" she spat back, feeling her heart break at his words. "If being a true professional is what you want, then by all means monsieur, that is how I shall behave…good day!"

Erik was stunned by what she had said and could not believe she was turning and walking away from him! "STOP!" he shouted, and in two strides had his hand gripped around her wrist and was whirling her around to face him, his strong hands gripping her about the waist and holding her steady. "Are you saying…that you're upset with me for…for treating you with respect and courteousness-?"

Christine shook his hands off her. "No! I…I am saying that…" she took a deep breath knowing that this was her only chance. "I want to be more!"

Erik stared at her, his breath catching in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. More? What…what did she mean?

Christine saw the question in his eyes and knew she had to continue, despite the embarrassment that had permanently changed the color of her face. "I…I want to be more to you than…than just your student…" she took another breath and continued. "I want…I want to be your friend."

Erik's eyebrows lifted at her words. "Friend?" he asked, the word sounding foreign from the way he said it, as if it were unknown in his vocabulary.

Christine nodded her head, not able to look into his eyes. "Yes…" she whispered. "Please understand that I value everything you have done…the opportunity to learn how to sing professionally, the chance to see my dreams come true…I am so grateful for all that," she said with every bit of sincerity, her lashes lifting to meet his eyes which were locked on her face. "And I greatly value the times we spend together…our lessons and rehearsals…" she wanted to tell him that she treasured those times with him, but she knew he would truly believe her a fool for saying something like that, so she remained silent. "But, I…I want to know you better…I want to hear your thoughts, share your ideas, and have discussions on many things…not just music…" her words had drifted into whispers at that point. What must he think of her? "I…I have invited you to come and see me whenever you wish, hoping that you will…but you never do…" she bit her lip. "I know this must sound foolish to you, but…I…I just…I'm very grateful for everything you've done, and I just…I want…" she sighed, knowing it was useless. "…to be your friend."

She stood before him, her shoulders slumped and her eyes cast downward in defeat. She awaited his laughter, or a sarcastic comment, anything to ridicule her for thinking and behaving like a child. He was right of course, a true singer, a great singer, would not seek friendship with her tutor…yet she could not imagine being anything less than a friend with him, and she longed to know the man behind the mask better. Yet it was all for loss…

Erik studied her for a long moment, her words sinking into his mind and emotions. A silence fell between them once again, neither of them speaking or moving, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, Erik said, "Come…there's something I want you to see."

Christine was startled by his words. His voice was gentle, soft, and coaxing…not at all what she had expected. "W-w-what?" she asked, looking up at him, confused.

He was already leading the way when he paused to face her again. "Come," he said again, this time holding out his hand to her. Curious, and perplexed, Christine placed her small hand in his, and allowed him to lead her into the shadows of the unknown.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Erik chuckled. "You'll just have to be patient and see."

He continued to lead her through the darkness, easily moving through the shadows as if it were as bright as day. Christine stumbled here and there, but maintained her balance and did not complain once. "You have adjusted to my world quickly," he whispered to her. "And I understand you have learned how to get around rather well on your own."

Christine gripped his hand tighter so as not to lose him in the darkness. "My eyesight is nothing like yours," she replied, gasping as she almost lost her balance.

Erik was there, his hands moving around her waist to steady her. "My apologies," he murmured, his hands lingering before reluctantly releasing her. "I should have warned you about the path…it does get easier, I promise…"

"It's alright," Christine whispered, wondering if he could see the flush of her cheeks despite the darkness.

He smiled and took her hand again, his fingers tenderly wrapping around her smaller ones, cradling her hand inside his own. "You have only been here for a few months…I have had over twenty years to learn these tunnels," he said, before coming to a stop. "Wait here," he commanded, before releasing her hand and disappearing.

Christine missed his touch, realizing just how warm she had been when he had been holding her. She felt so cold now that his presence was gone, but before she could wrap her arms around her body, a light illuminated the shadows out of the corner of her eye. The light came from an oil lamp, that hung…she couldn't quite tell what exactly, but it looked as though…Erik, who was behind the light, was floating towards her! And then she realized…he was floating…but not on the air; on a boat. The lamp hung from the front of a gondola, and Erik was standing in the back, a large oar in his hands, pushing the boat towards her. "Come," he whispered, holding his hand out to her. Without asking, Christine took his hand, and entered the boat, settling herself down as he then began to paddle them across the water.

"W-w-where are we?" she asked, looking out into the murky waters, trying to see if the lamp could illuminate anything else.

"Your lagoon is not the only body of water under the Opera House," he said. "In fact, the Seine empties into an underground lake here, one that is quite vast, and rather deep," he looked down at her. "Can you swim?" he asked.

Christine shivered as she imagined the bottomless waters of the lake they were sailing. "A little," she replied. "There was a pond behind our farmhouse…in the summer I would sometimes go swimming in it…but it wasn't very deep."

Erik nodded his head, moving the oar at an even pace, grateful for the shadows, for in truth, he knew she could swim, as the memories of that night when he had watched her bathe in the lagoon came flooding back to him, as they did every night.

"How far do the tunnels go?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts, which he was grateful for.

"I have explored many…and yet I am not sure if I have explored them all," he simply stated. "I do know that those," he indicated towards his left, "lead to the infamous catacombs of medieval Paris. Trust me; those are some tunnels you do not wish to explore."

Christine felt a shiver go down her body at the thought of coming across ancient skulls and skeletons of the men and women who lived so long ago. A part of her yearned to know how he knew about the catacombs, but another part of her felt just fine without fully knowing as well.

They reached the other end of the lake and Erik jumped out of the boat, the water going up to his knees, as he pulled the gondola ashore and tethered it to a simple wooden post that rose out of the earth. He then removed the lamp from where it hung and extended his hand to Christine. She wanted to know what he was going to show her, where exactly they were traveling, but she didn't ask, she simply took his hand and allowed him to lead her further into the darkness, past rocks and caverns, past pipes and tiny underground streams. She felt as if they were traveling to the center of the earth, but it came to her realization that instead of going down deeper, they were in fact…climbing upward.

The hard earthen ground had changed to stone steps. And there were lamps along the walls that Erik was slowly lighting one by one. The steps were wide, and they twisted in a spiral format. Christine looked around her as Erik lit the lamps and noticed that there were stalls along the steps, some containing old blankets, others with moss and straw on the ground. "They used to keep animals down here," Erik explained, not having to see the curiosity on Christine's face to know what she was thinking. "In the older days of the Paris Opera House, they sometimes had horses, cattle, and sheep on the stage for such operas. They aren't used anymore, but I remember when I first came here, all the noise they would make," he chuckled to himself. "The stagehands never learned who was milking the cows when they came down to do it themselves."

Christine smiled and could easily imagine the confusion, as well as Rudolph's excitement at finding animals, if he knew about this place. After passing the animal stalls, Erik led her down a long passageway, passed large wooden wheels that were as big as a small building, with great ropes tethered around them. "What is this place?" she gasped, looking at the wheels with amazement.

"The mechanisms that control the curtains," Erik simply answered. "They aren't simply controlled by those ropes and sandbags that the stagehands operate," he stopped her then. "Careful…there are some loose floorboards here."

Christine's eyes went wide and looked down at her feet, noticing that the boards where she stood did indeed look moldy and weak. She looked at Erik and how he was moving, that only on certain boards did he place his whole weight. She mimicked his steps, her confidence slowly growing, but let out a squeal when she felt one board give way beneath her feet.

As before, Erik was there, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist and twirling her out of danger in front of him. "Are you alright?" he asked, seeing how she was panting from her sudden fright.

"Y-y-y-yes," Christine stammered, trying to get her heart to beat at its normal rhythm. "Thank you," she whispered, blushing as she realized that his arm was still around her.

Erik released her, but took her hand again, leading her past the giant wheels, through some more darkened chambers, ever climbing upwards. They continued their journey, till they reached what appeared to be the inside of a tower. Erik led the way, up a long and narrow spiral staircase, which contained no sconces for Erik to light. In fact, the staircase was so narrow, that Erik couldn't take the oil lamp with him as well as keep a hold of Christine's hand, so they were climbing in pure darkness. Christine held Erik's hand like a vice, keeping the rest of her body flattened against the wall as they climbed higher and higher. She had no idea where he was taking her, and her curiosity was consuming her with every step, but she didn't want either of them to fall and break their necks!

"Stop here," he commanded. Christine did as he told her, wishing she could see what was going on. She could hear him grunting as he pushed against something, and she squinted her eyes as she saw…a sliver of light? There was the sound of iron being moved, and then, before she could blink, her face was bathed in a flourish of snowflakes that fell from the ceiling door Erik had just opened. "At last," he sighed, emerging into the snow covered air, his hand guiding Christine up through the door, helping her out…and it was then that she realized where they were.

"Oh dear heaven!" Christine gasped, looking all around her. She was outside. The snow that was falling and swirling around her body and hitting her at every angle was not falling through holes in a cavern's ceiling…but from the actual sky above her head! They were standing on the roof of the Paris Opera House.

Erik chuckled at her reaction and walked over to edge of the roof, leaning against the familiar stone gargoyles. "Behold…Paris at dawn," he said quite simply, holding his hands out to the city that still very much seemed asleep.

With tentative steps, Christine followed Erik and gazed out at the city before her. Tiny lights dotted the streets, a few carriages were traveling here and there, but other than that, there wasn't a single living soul moving around. There were no fine ladies or gentlemen of fashion dressed in their silks and furs, parading their wares like peddlers at a market. There were no boys in front of the Opera House, advertising the next opera, and the beggars that were frequently seen to line the streets seemed to have disappeared from view as well. It was so quiet; in her brief time in Paris, Christine had never seen the city this quiet.

Erik studied her as she gazed out over the sleeping city, admiring the way the snow clung to her curls, the rosy color of her cheeks, and the brightness in her eyes as she gazed upon the outside world for the first time since she had brought him back on that stormy night. "It's so lovely," she murmured. Erik couldn't help but agree, but it was not the city that had his attention. He couldn't imagine a time he thought she looked more beautiful.

"The view is breath-taking, but the one from Notre Dame is better."

Christine stared at him with disbelief. "You have been to the top of Notre Dame?" she gasped.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Once, when I was much younger; I ventured out into the night without a care in the world, but even I, who have no fear of heights whatsoever, felt uneasy with being up there."

Christine was simply amazed. "You…you go out often?" she asked, curious about everything that he did.

Erik felt his cheeks flush, as he all too well knew the reasons that drove him out into the night. "On occasion," he whispered. "I actually have…some who help me, by getting supplies for us, such as food, wine, fabric for clothes, blankets, oil for our lamps, etc." He grimaced somewhat. Madame Giry was his link to the outside world, and since their fight, they had not been on speaking terms with one another…which was not making life easy for all of them. It was his own damn fault, he knew, and it was his responsibility to settle things; he couldn't afford to be selfish.

He cleared his throat, changing the subject. "I wanted to bring you here for a reason," he murmured, fighting the urge to reach out and brush one of her curls from her cheek.

Christine couldn't help but smile somewhat. "You mean you didn't bring me up here to throw me off the roof?"

Erik realized her joke and found himself chuckling to it. "Tempting, it's true…but…" his voice grew serious again. "I wanted to show you…another part of my world that I know you have not seen…in fact, you are the only other person who has come up here, besides me."

Christine's eyes widened. "None of the others?"

Erik shook his head. "They don't care for heights, and…they shun the light of day even more than me," he sighed, feeling pity for his friends. Despite the scars he wore, he had more freedom than they could ever have.

Christine blushed as realization came over her. While he had not yet said it to her directly, Erik was telling her by bringing her here, that he trusted her with the kind of trust one would give to a friend. He had taken her beyond the underground lair, into the Opera House itself, and above it. He was tempting her with a taste for freedom from his prison…but she did not feel the urge to run for her life, to escape him or the world he lived. She did however feel her heart ache for her father. She gazed out over the cold streets of Paris and wondered where he was. Could she see the apartment they had occupied from here? She peered through the mist, wondering if he was there. Was he worried about her? Was he alright? Would she ever see his face again?

Erik saw the pain in her eyes, knowing what she was thinking, but said nothing. Instead, he removed his cape and gently placed it around Christine's shoulders, offering a smile of reassurance.

"Thank you," she whispered, pulling the cape closer around her body, her eyes fluttering shut as she breathed in his scent. "And…thank you for showing me this."

"Tis nothing," Erik whispered, turning his back to her and leaning against one of the stone gargoyles. "I have thought about what you said earlier…" he looked over his shoulder at her. "What is it that you wish to know about me?"

Christine was taken aback by his abruptness, and at first thought perhaps he was mocking her. But she realized that he was being very sincere, and that this was a somewhat awkward moment for them both. He had not dismissed her request for wanting to be friends. "Well…I…I am curious…about _Don Juan_ ," she began. "How did the idea for the opera come to you?"

Erik couldn't help but give a cynical laugh. "You want to know about the story?" he clarified for her. "Well…when I first came to this theater, I knew very little about music and nothing at all about opera…but it just so happened that on the first night we had arrived…they were playing _Faust_. I snuck up to the catwalks high above the stage and watched the entire show from there. I was mesmerized by the spectacle…" he whispered, his eyes clouding over with memories. "And instantly, I felt a connection to music…so, as you can see, I have dedicated some of my work to my first exposure to opera."

Christine did understand that, after all, _Don Juan_ , like _Faust_ , sold his soul to the devil, however in Erik's opera, it was to seek out revenge over the beautiful Aminta and her handsome lover. "And…the rest of the story?" she inquired, hoping she was not overstepping her boundaries.

Erik breathed in deeply. "I was 17 when I came here. Young and foolish; I knew nothing of the world or how it worked," he paused before continuing. "And nothing at all about women."

Christine had not expected this. Her entire attention was upon him like a rabbit being stalked by a wolf.

"Her name was Marie," Erik continued, his teeth grinding somewhat as he said her name. "She was a dancer…a star, really. Graceful, beautiful, young…and stupid," he spat. "I was an idiot too, charmed by her beauty, dazzled by her talent, I composed songs, sonnets, all manners of love-sick poetry to her, signing them as if I were a mysterious ghost…thus giving birth to my infamous pseudonym," he chuckled, although there was little humor in his voice. "For two agonizing years I kept to the shadows, not once revealing who I was, thinking that she would seek me out, and when she did, she would be so in love with me that she would not care about my face…that she would see past it…" his voice was full and bitter. "But her true face was soon revealed to me," he growled.

He suddenly turned to face Christine, and she took a quick step back as she saw old anger flare in his eyes. "Do you find the Vicomte de Chagny handsome?" he asked, bitterness and hatred pouring out of his voice.

Christine did not know what to say. Yes, strictly going by appearance, Raoul was quite handsome. But she had a glimpse at the man beneath the invisible mask, and from what she could tell, he was pompous, arrogant, narcissistic, and disrespectful. Erik grew impatient. "Naturally you think so, all women do," he grumbled, turning his attention back to the city.

Christine opened her mouth to protest, not liking to be judged based on some silly thoughts by members of her sex, but Erik continued. "He was only 16 at the time…but he was just as much a hunter then as he is now."

Christine wrapped the cape around her even tighter, feeling the cold invade her bones.

"I remember the day he came to the Opera House. He was not the Vicomte then, but he did not need his title to win him conquests. He too found Marie to be irresistible, and all it took for him was a sweet word or two, a kiss on the hand…and she was on her back, her legs spread willingly from east to west, in a matter of seconds." Christine flushed deeply at Erik's course words, but said nothing. Pain dripped from his lips as the melted snow dripped from her hair.

He sighed deeply, painfully. "What I had been doing for two years…the Vicomte had accomplished in a matter of minutes," the anger flared once again in his voice. "She assumed he had been the author of her romantic tokens, and he was all too willing to take the credit. I realized then the creature she truly was…vain, spoiled, conceited," he slammed his fist against the gargoyle. "And so stupid…"

Christine chewed on her bottom lip, clutching Erik's cape close to her body, yet also wanting to comfort him for his wounds. But she dared not move. "What happened to her?" she whispered.

"The stupid girl thought the Vicomte loved her and wanted to marry her, so she ran away to be with him. A year later, Raoul returned, but Marie was not with him. In fact, no one ever saw Marie again, stupid girl," he muttered, flinging some snow over the edge of the roof.

Christine felt Erik's pain as she took in the sad story he had told. Was the character of Aminta based on this woman? Christine was not comfortable with the thought of herself playing a past love interest of his. "Satisfied?" Erik snapped.

Christine flinched at the coldness in his voice, but refused to let it get to her. "I'm sorry Erik," she whispered.

Erik scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Please, the last thing I need from you are apologies for her."

"I'm not apologizing for her!" Christine protested. "But I am sorry for the pain that you went through! I…I can tell from the way you mentioned her that…that at one point you loved her dearly-"

"I did not love her," Erik growled. "I was dazzled by her beauty and flattered by the way she read the poems I wrote for her…but I never loved her."

Christine's brow furrowed. "B-b-but you said-"

He turned on her then, advancing towards her. "Have you ever been in love Christine?" he asked.

"W-w-what?" Christine took several steps back, suddenly feeling like the roof had shrunk.

"Have you ever been in love? Do you know what it feels like to love another and have that love returned?" he was practically yelling at this point.

What could she say? No, she had never known of that kind of love to be returned, but…she was so unsure of the feelings that were beating inside her heart. He confused her; he haunted her thoughts while awake and her dreams while asleep. His music constantly played over and over in her head, and when he stood before her, even now, looking all dark and menacing…she could not help but feel new unknown passions awaken in her blood. And despite his intimidating presence…Christine knew she had nothing to fear of him. There was a trust she felt for this man, who several times that day had already caught her before falling. With these thoughts, she found herself standing her ground and squaring her shoulders to him. "The love that you speak, I…I have not known, but-"

Erik wasn't interested in hearing her reason, he was sick of reason; he just wanted to make his point and be done with it. "Then how can you possibly know or comprehend what I feel or have felt? Of all the people in this world, don't you think that I would know my feelings better than anyone else?" he turned from her then and stalked back over to the gargoyle.

Christine glared at his back, not ready to end this now. "I didn't force you to tell me this story!" she shouted. "But you did answer my question…now I know your basis for Aminta."

Erik kept his back to her. "Aminta is not Marie. She is just a copy of what women really are."

Christine felt her face pale at his words. She stalked to where he stood and grabbed him by the shoulder, not caring that it took her whole strength to turn him around and face her. "And what am I, Erik?" she shouted. "After all, I am a woman…best that you tell me what I really am!"

Her spirit was alive and kindling with wildfire. Erik had never seen it in such a blaze, and for the first time in his life…he felt himself shrinking before another. "Calm down," he ordered in a hushed voice. "Do you want all of Paris to awake and know of our whereabouts?"

"To hell with them!" Christine spat, surprised by her own crude words. "Tell me what you meant Erik! After all, I think I'm entitled as the woman who is playing this Jezebel for your opera!" she shoved her fists against him. "You are saying that we are all deceitful creatures! That we use good men and their romantic tokens as means to make ourselves feel powerful, and then destroy them by throwing ourselves at the first handsome face with wealth and power that comes our way! My God, is that what you truly think?"

Erik was growing annoyed by her words. "Am I wrong?"

Christine threw his cape at him. "YES!" she shouted, stomping her foot good and hard, breaking the snow all around it. "And how DARE you belittle me for feeling sorry for you! I do NOT pity you Erik! But I am sorry for the pain that she caused you, and I despise her for tainting your view on all women! But let me assure you that not all women are so fickle, conceited, and self-absorbed!"

Erik cocked his head to one side, admiring the fire that was fueling through her. "Really?"

"YES!" she shouted again, throwing her arms up into the air. "I do not know the kind of love that you asked me earlier…but I know myself and what I have been taught. I have seen it with my very own eyes! My mother was the daughter of a French aristocrat, but she abandoned that life to be with my father, a poor immigrant. She loved him for the man he was, not for money or power or fame. And while it broke his heart that he could not give her all the luxuries she had before, she could never truly make him understand that those things meant nothing to her. He was all that mattered; his love was all that mattered! And I will not be judged upon the horrid deeds of Marie and other women like her!" Christine stomped angrily.

Erik bit his lips to not grin at her.

"When I love a man…I will love him with my whole heart, with all of my being, my soul, and my mind. I will not cast him aside the second another enters my life, no matter how wealthy, handsome, or powerful he may be! I will not lie to him, I will not deceive him, but I will fight for him and stand loyally with him," tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks as she continued speaking. Erik's amused grin disappeared and he slowly began walking towards her. "When he is ill…I will nurse him, and when he is sad, I will comfort him," she choked. "I will be everything to him…his friend…his companion…h-his l-lover…a-a-and if he will have me…his wife," she whispered. She couldn't look at him now, especially since he was standing right in front of her, his body so close to hers.

Had he realized that she was talking about…about him?

Had she realized it? Perhaps she always knew…

Erik's heart felt strangely warmed by this woman. The feelings that had been raging through him ever since Christine came into his life were reaching a boiling point. His memories of Marie had threatened that stone exterior he kept around himself, and his fears for rejection, ridicule, and desertion came crashing back.

But Christine's words filled him with new hope. Was it possible to believe that this beauty could love the beast that he was? She had asked him earlier if it was possible for them to be friends. Yes, yes, he wanted to be friends with her very much.

But it almost seemed too much to dream for anything more, despite the new hope Christine gave him.

Christine wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, shivering uncontrollably as the cold seeped through her dressing gown. "C-c-can we go back inside?" she asked. "It's very cold…"

Erik nodded his head and led her back towards the door they had come through. "I do not think the sun will be rising today," he murmured, surveying the cold gray sky overhead.

Christine sighed. "I have almost forgotten what the sun looks like."

The trap door was open once again, and Christine bit her lip, wondering how in the world she was going to climb down those steep steps. "Allow me," Erik murmured, going in front of her, and tethering a rope that was connected to the trap door. The rope was long and disappeared into the dark abyss. He wrapped his leg around the rope, creating a holster and securing himself within it. "Hold tight to me," he urged Christine, his arm already moving around her waist.

Christine was not sure about this; in fact, she had just realized how much she was scared of heights. "Erik-"

"Trust me, Angel."

She looked at him, his words melting over her like honey, and his arm felt strong and secure around her body. He had never called her that before…but she liked it very much. She nodded her head, her arms going around his shoulders and gripping him tightly, her head burrowing against his chest, biting back the scream as with one arm, he held onto the rope, and they gently, yet swiftly, floated to the ground.

It was over before she knew it. Christine was still holding tightly to him even after her feet were securely on the ground. "It's alright," he whispered, running a soothing hand through her hair.

Christine lifted her head, looking around and realizing that they truly were back on the ground, and then her fists began pounding against his chest. "Warn me next time about that being the only way of coming back down when you take me up anywhere!" she hissed, but she wasn't truly upset, just…shaken from everything that had taken place. It was more than simply arguing with him on the roof of Paris…it was coming to terms with what she had admitted to herself when she was declaring to him the kind of woman she would be…

She was in love with the Phantom of the Opera.

Erik's hands lingered on her waist, his face so close to her own. So much had happened; this woman had the voice of an angel, she inspired his music like nothing else, she ignited his soul, and for the first time in over twenty years…she brought hope back to his heart. He was a monster…and yet she made him feel like a man.

"We best return, don't you think?" Christine whispered. "B-b-before any stagehands find us here?"

A sad smile crossed his lips. "You're right," he sighed. "Although all the stagehands know that this is part of my domain…and that I choose to share it with them," he said simply. "If they saw me…and some of them have…they know best not to tell anyone, except to keep the legend of the Opera Ghost alive."

"Yes, but what would they say if they saw me with you?" she asked.

Erik grinned as he led her back to their lair. "That the Opera Ghost has a friend?"

Christine stared up at him, a smile spreading across her lips. It was a start. Perhaps with time, she could teach the Opera Ghost to love again…

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friendship between Erik and Christine continues to kindle as Erik surprises Christine with a special gift. But beware of the Vicomte...

_**Kindling** _

Two more weeks passed since Erik had taken Christine to the roof the Opera House. But in that period, so much had changed between the two of them, that if one had met them, they would never have suspected that once upon a time, Erik was holding Christine against her will.

Indeed, even the others found the change to be startling. Erik still kept to himself for a large part; he would always be somewhat of an introvert. But his laughter would ring throughout the tunnels, a sound that was not often heard. In the past, Rudolph was always cautious about approaching Erik; now, his fear for his master had practically disappeared. Suzette, who often brought Erik his meals to his chamber, was still getting over the compliments he would frequently give for her cooking, not to mention how he was just so much more…cheerful.

"Something has to be done about the Master," Jacque commented one evening during supper.

Gustave gave the other man a sour look. "Done? What needs to be done? The Master is in merry spirits!"

"Exactly!" Jacque grumbled. "And…well…it's just not right!"

Suzette, who was serving everyone, made a loud dismissive sound. "Pish posh! The Master has never been in better health, and merry spirits are good for him. One can not expect a man in his prime to spend his life brooding away in darkness."

Jacque rolled his eyes. "Unless you looked in a mirror as of late, that's all we're good for! And while the Master isn't as cursed as we are…he's not a…a 'normal' man…to pretend that he is would be horrible!"

Gustave shook his head. "How so Jacque? How would it be horrible for the Master to be happy now and again? It's a blessing, I say. And what is 'normal' anyway? Down here, to be a 'freak of nature' is normal," he chuckled.

All the others chuckled with him, except for Jacque who was just looking as sour as ever before. "You think it's funny that the Master is abandoning his duties?"

Gustave's smile quickly disappeared. "What on earth are you groaning about?"

"It's her fault!" Jacque hissed.

"Hush!" Suzette snapped, not wanting anything rude said about Christine.

"It is! Before she came here, the Master struck fear into the hearts of those who reside above! The legend of the Opera Ghost thrived, and no person dared cross the Phantom's rules or instructions for fear of death! But now…" he sighed. "Now, what threats has he made? What fear do people have? None! Because of his so-called 'merry spirits', the Phantom of the Opera is becoming more of a childish story to give people nightmares rather than an entity that controlled this place!"

Gustave groaned. "You truly are the most selfish person I've met Jacque. Why don't you just say that you're afraid for yourself, that someone will come down here and take you away-"

"DON'T BELITTLE ME, GUSTAVE!" Jacque roared. "You had best be worried about your own skin too! Without any threats from the Phantom, sooner or later people will not fear coming down here, and will find us!"

"Impossible!" Gustave retorted. "You know as well as I that any person who doesn't know these passages will either find themselves trapped, lost…or worse. The Master designed them specially; we have nothing to worry about."

Jacque found himself chuckling, although it was a cold cynical chuckle. "Yes, of course, you're quite right Gustave…but wait! If I am not correct…isn't there a young lady amongst us who somehow…got past all those traps without a scratch on her?"

Gustave refused to meet Jacque's eyes, knowing fully well that the other man was right. "The odds of another having the same luck as Christine would be extremely slim," he argued.

Jacque took a bite from the food on his plate. "But not impossible." He ignored the glares he was receiving from the others around the table and continued eating, knowing very well that he was upsetting Gustave who always made it a habit to say "grace" at supper.

"Y-y-you s-s-should be nicer t-to Christine, Jacque," Rudolph softly stuttered, poking at the food on his plate with his fork.

Jacque was surprised by the protest, not used to hearing Rudolph stick up for himself…or anyone in that matter. "Oh really?" he drawled. "Are you threatening me?"

"Stop this nonsense!" Suzette ordered, putting a hand on Rudolph's great arm to calm him.

"No Suzette, this is actually getting rather interesting!" Jacque chuckled. "I'm curious to see what Rudolph will do to defend his 'lady fair'."

Rudolph was beginning to tremble with anger. "S-s-she's good! A-a-and m-my friend! D-d-don't talk badly a-a-about her!" He pounded a large fist on the table, causing the plates to shake. "A-a-and don't b-b-belittle me e-e-either, Jacque!"

Jacque leaned back in his chair, his hook tapping lightly on the table, his other hand playing with his long black beard. "I must say…I'm impressed Rudolph," he sighed, bowing his head. "In all the time I've known you…you've never stuck up for anyone, even yourself…and yet here you are…defending your gypsy girl and telling me to, more or less, keep my mouth shut."

Rudolph was still trembling, but he was unsure what to say or how to react to Jacque's words. Then, when Jacque began to chuckle, Rudolph found himself grinning and laughing back. "At least she's good for something," Jacque muttered, grabbing hold of a wine bottle and pouring a hefty amount into his cup.

Rudolph's smile faded into a dark frown. "S-s-she's good for m-m-m-many things…and if you d-d-d-disagree…t-t-then you'll have to g-g-go through me!" he threatened, his fist slamming down once more onto the table.

"Please!" Suzette cried, worried for the food that was still on the table. "This behavior is highly inappropriate for the dinner table! I am deeply ashamed of you both!"

Jacque rolled his eyes. "You should be proud! Today Rudolph has become a man and has finally stood up to me," he laughed, raising his glass and clinking it with Rudolph's.

"Pity that the measure of a man must be weighed against you," Gustave grumbled. "For I know many vermin who would then constitute as men."

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Suzette bellowed, raising her fork in the direction of Jacque. "Let this be the last word on the subject…the Master has always taken care of us and will continue to do so! But the man is allowed some happiness for all the burdens he bears, including us," she emphasized, looking directly at Jacque. "We serve him, yes, but if not for him, we'd have no food on our table, no clothes to wear, no books to read," She cast a look at Rudolph, "and for all I know, we'd still be prisoners to that bloody carnival! So I suggest, gentlemen," she growled, looking at each and every one of them, "that you show some gratitude by eating the food on your plates and giving the Master some peace!" She sat back down, shaken from her anger, and stuffed her mouth full of potatoes.

The others said nothing, just stared at their plates in silence.

"Well…that was passionate, I must say."

All four heads turned to one of the shadowed corners from which Erik emerged, his hands coming together in applause. Everyone's eyes were wide; their mouths open, wondering how long he had been standing there. Jacque turned very pale.

"Master," Suzette said, quickly rising from her chair.

"Sit and eat, you've said quite enough for tonight," Erik reassured, a gentle hand reaching out and patting her shoulder. His eyes were locked on Jacque, who was trembling in his chair.

"Master…I…I just w-want to say-"

"You needn't say anything, Gustave," Erik sighed, admiring the food on the table. "Roast potatoes, baked bread, and for a main course…surely that's not goose, is it?"

"Duck!" Rudolph said happily. "R-r-roast duck…w-w-which I helped with p-preparing!" he stated proudly.

Erik smiled at Rudolph and patted his shoulder. "Indeed…you have proven yourself a man in many ways, Rudolph," Erik said proudly. Rudolph couldn't help but beam.

Jacque however was sinking in his chair. "C-c-can I f-f-fetch you plate, Master?" Suzette offered, again rising from her chair.

"Stay and eat your food Suzette, you work far too hard to be serving anyone any further," Erik commanded gently, but with great authority. Suzette sat right back down and gazed up at Erik as he continued to circle the table. "I merely came to say that there is no need to bring any dinner to my chamber…"

"Oh?" Suzette asked, still unsure of how to react. Erik seemed to possess a dangerous calm about himself. "D-d-do you know when we shall expect Christine?"

Erik smiled. "Mademoiselle Daae shall be joining me this evening…I actually came to see if there is a basket that I may place some food in."

"I shall fetch it for you Master," Gustave said quickly, rising from his chair and shuffling his body out of the chamber with his great arms.

Erik smiled after Gustave and then came to Jacque's chair, smiling down at the man with the hook for a hand. Jacque avoided Erik's eyes at all times, focusing his whole attention to the cup of wine he held in his only hand. "I must say Jacque…I had no idea how worried you were about everyone's safety here," Erik sighed, coming around Jacque's chair and seating himself in the spot where Gustave had been.

Jacque said nothing; he simply continued to drink his wine.

"Indeed," Erik sighed, "I also was rather surprised by your words…I had rather thought that you and Mademoiselle Daae were getting on much better." Erik stretched himself out in the chair, his hands lounging on the arms, his legs crossing over one another, his head leaning back as he gazed at Jacque. "Perhaps there is something you wish to explain?"

Jacque took another swig from his cup. "N-n-no Master," he whispered.

"No? No there is nothing you wish to explain? Or no, things are not going well between you and Mademoiselle Daae?"

Jacque swallowed the lump in his throat. "I…I j-just meant-"

"Please speak up Jacque, I have been playing the organ for a good portion of the day and confess that my hearing is not as keen as it normally would be."

Jacque swallowed again. "I only meant that…i-if Christine-"

"Mademoiselle Daae," Erik corrected. "Until you are on better terms, I think you should remain formal, don't you?"

Jacque felt sweat dripping from his brow into his eyes. "Y-y-yes Master," he muttered. "I…I'm only concerned that…if Mademoiselle Daae c-c-could get down here…o-others may a-a-as well."

Erik nodded his head and leaned forward, his arms coming to rest on the table. "Yes, I can understand your concern…but…thankfully, I know I can depend upon you to be on guard in case that did happen, yes?"

Jacque nodded his head, his eyes remaining downcast to the table.

Erik smiled. "Good," he said, giving Jacque's shoulder a hearty shake. "And as for your 'concern' that I am not doing my duties as the infamous 'Phantom of the Opera'…" he rose from his chair and leaned close to Jacque, his face near the man's ear, his voice so soft, but so dangerous. "Answer me truthfully, Jacque…do you find me fearsome now?"

Jacque bit his lip, his whole body trembling.

"Well?"

"Y-y-y-yes M-m-m-master," he stammered.

"Good, I'm glad," Erik whispered. "Never forget…" he emphasized, his teeth clipped and his voice a hiss in the other man's ear. "I know my place and my duties…so it's wise that you remember yours."

Jacque nodded his head fervently, still looking away, his teeth biting his lip to keep from crying out.

Satisfied that his point was clearly made, Erik moved away from the trembling man, his hand coming down on Jacque's shoulder, this time giving it a pat of reassurance. "I promise you, you'll never see that place again," he whispered, compassion coming over him for the man who feared the carnival more than anyone else.

Erik turned to see Gustave, standing in the entryway of the cavern, holding the basket of food. "Ah! Thank you Gustave," Erik said rather jovially, taking the basket from him. "Enjoy your dinner."

They watched him disappear into the shadows, just as suddenly as he had arrived. Gustave went back to his seat, his eyes looking desperately at Suzette, hoping for an explanation, but she gave none, she simply continued to eat her food in silence. It was Rudolph who broke the silence, sitting tall and proud in his seat. "The Master agrees that t-t-today, I've b-b-become a man!" he poured himself a small cup of wine and lifted it high into the air. "To Christine!" he said happily. "I'm v-v-very happy s-s-s-she came!" 

* * *

 

Christine was grinning from ear to ear as she listened to the beautiful music being played beneath her. Every December right before Christmas, the Opera House gave a free public concert of Handel's _Messiah_. It was simple, yet elegant; the stage decorated with red and white roses, the four principle soloists sitting on four elegant red velvet chairs while the chorus stood behind them. The orchestra was playing with great gusto, and Christine couldn't help but hum softly to some of the familiar tunes that her father had played on his violin every Christmas. And, much to her relief, this was one performance Carlotta officially did not participate in. According to Erik, Carlotta would not participate in something as meager as a public choral concert.

Christine still couldn't believe it; she grinned at Erik and then smiled down at the musicians on the tiny stage beneath her. Both she and Erik were sitting on a cat walk high above the auditorium, close the Opera House's grand chandelier that hung over the audience. No one would see them, and no stage hands would come up to where they were during the performance. It was as if she were at a private concert.

Earlier that evening, after a long rehearsal, Erik congratulated her on her progress, and felt that it was time for a treat. Christine had no idea what he meant, as he had never given her a "treat" before after a rehearsal, but she couldn't help but grin when he told her to wear one of her more "elegant" gowns for that evening, and to come with an empty stomach. Christine did exactly as she was told, and at exactly seven o'clock, he arrived at her chamber, dressed in one his finest black suits, wearing a crisp clean white linen shirt, cravat, and tie. He held out a rose for her, which took Christine by surprise, for she was still unsure about how he felt towards her, but her heart skipped a beat as he offered her the flower and bent to kiss her hand, hoping beyond anything that perhaps, he too, was feeling something more.

Erik still had no idea what possessed him to make such an offer. Since their conversation on the roof, he was going out of his way to be more open with her, to share his thoughts, not only on music, but on books, art, and philosophy as well. Always the professional musician, Erik would quickly bring them back to the task at hand if their conversation began to wander during rehearsals. But she was lingering more after rehearsals to speak with him, and he now and then found himself going to her chamber, to either learn her thoughts on something, or to simply bid her goodnight. It was strange, this friendship he had with her, but he had hoped that it would help fight the strange emotions that were raging through him. Sadly, he was finding that instead, it was kindling them.

Yet he ignored his discomfort about such things and tried to focus on his music when they were apart. He was working hard with the stage and art directions for _Don Juan_ , as well as sending up instructions daily to the managers to begin ordering supplies for the opera. He was quite determined to see it performed before the season ended. Yet with so much work at hand, Erik knew that both he and Christine needed a break of some sort…and knowing that it was the evening for _Messiah_ , he could not imagine a better treat for his rising star than a night at the opera.

He felt like a fool, a man well past the age to behave like a love-sick school boy, but he couldn't stop grinning at the thought of her surprise when she learned what he had in store. He went to kitchens of his lair, momentarily taking care of some unpleasant business with Jacque before fetching the food, and then arriving to take Christine to her surprise.

She was a vision like nothing else he had seen. Indeed, he felt his heart stop at the sight of her.

He had instructed her to wear the most elegant gown she had, not remembering what he had brought her so many weeks ago, but he was not prepared for what he saw. She was a vision in ivory; the gown sparkled, hugging her curves deliciously and then fanning out into a full skirt that made her look like a princess from a fairy tale. He would not have been surprised if it were glass slippers she wore under the skirt. She wore white satin gloves that went up to her elbows, and the old locket that she always wore hung delicately between her breasts. Of all her gowns, this one was also the most revealing; the thin lace that served as sleeves revealed her creamy shoulders, and the neckline was dangerously low. When she greeted him, she smiled a dazzling innocent sweet smile, and then did a little twirl, asking him if she had followed his instructions properly. Erik could only nod his head, his voice momentarily gone. This was an image that would forever be burned into his mind.

They then proceeded to the catwalk, going by the underground lake, past the old animal stalls, and up some old steps that he knew were abandoned, and safe for her to climb. When Erik opened the trap door to the catwalk, Christine gasped, the grand chandelier being the first thing to greet her eyes. He took her hand in his and led her to a place on the catwalk where he knew they would be secluded in shadows, but where she would have the best view of the stage. He proceeded to lower his cape for them to sit on, and then revealed the food that had been prepared for their supper. He also revealed a bottle of wine and two glasses that were in the basket as well. Christine couldn't help but giggle as Erik insisted on a toast to the evening.

"What shall we drink to?" he asked, raising his glass.

Christine smiled, feeling her cheeks become aflame. "To the Angel of Music," she whispered.

Erik's brow furrowed at her words. "The what?" he asked, hoping he did not sound as if he were ridiculing her, just simply…curious to what she meant.

Christine smiled and clinked her glass with his. "The Angel of Music," she said again, as if anyone would understand what she was talking about. "The Angel of Music was what brought me here…to this city, to this place…and to this moment."

Erik cocked an eyebrow at her words, curious to know more about this mysterious angel she spoke of, but clinked his glass with hers and raised it to his lips. "To your angel," he whispered, before drinking.

Christine took her drink, wondering if Erik knew that her angel was indeed…him.

They ate the roast duck, potatoes, and bread that Suzette had previously prepared, talking quietly with one another, Christine trying to guess what would be performed that evening. Erik couldn't help but find her charming, how she seemed like a little girl, fidgeting with excitement every time she heard the orchestra tune their instruments, trying to figure out what music it was they were going to perform. And then, the curtains opened and the orchestra began to play, and Christine immediately recognized the opening song. "Handel's _Messiah_! she squealed happily, and without thinking, she leaned against the catwalk, her arms clinging to the ropes that separated her from falling to her death, and her feet, coming out from under her skirt and dangling over the edge. It was positively unladylike, but neither Christine nor Erik cared; he had never seen her so happy…and he knew that this was the image that would truly stay with him for the rest of his life.

She kept grinning at the stage, and then at him while the musicians below filled the auditorium with their songs; her feet swinging back and forth like a child. Erik however kept his gaze focused on Christine. He was glad that for at least one night, he could give her something to be happy about, something that may take away the pain of being his prisoner and losing her father, if only briefly. He found himself frowning as he remembered Jacque's words, his fear that Erik had more or less, gone soft; forgotten his duties to strike fear into the hearts of others as the infamous Phantom. Truth was…Erik had forgotten. He was finding bliss with Christine, bliss in her voice, and bliss in her presence. He had never truly known happiness till she had come into his life…and it frightened him.

Was his guard down? Would others attempt to explore the places they knew were forbidden? He had made a vow to protect his friends, promising that they would never again know what it was like to be behind bars and subjected to humiliation. Jacque needed to be taught a lesson, Erik could see that…but he pitied the man all the same, knowing that it was his fear that drove him to such mad fits. He glanced at Christine again, thinking perhaps he did need to keep his distance, at least more so than he was now; he needed to stay focused and alert…but he could not imagine a life without her voice singing sweetly to heaven, or her laughter filling his ears. Even now, as she softly hummed to the songs below, he could feel himself being lost in the bliss that she offered. For the first time in his life…light was coming into the shadowy depths of his soul.

He then remembered Suzette's words, about how he "deserved" some happiness. He looked at Christine again, thinking exactly that as he watched her face glow with excitment.

"Oh Erik, thank you so much for this!" Christine whispered, leaning a little closer as the famous "Hallelujah Chorus" began to play. "Oh I love this song, I-oh!" she gasped as she had leaned far too close on the catwalk, but Erik was there, his strong arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her safely back onto the catwalk.

"Careful!" he hissed, his arm slipping under her skirts and pulling her fully back. Christine blushed as she felt his arm briefly brush her legs, but she was more ashamed of her childish behavior than anything.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was being foolish, I-"

Erik had placed a finger to her lips. "You were merely excited, it's alright," he whispered. "Just be more careful…and enjoy the song." Christine smiled at him and turned her attention back to the stage as the chorus continued to sing.

The incident had startled them both so much that neither of them had realized that one of Christine's shoes had fallen from her feet, landing softly in Box 5 beneath them. But this was no ordinary box…it was the one that the Vicomte de Chagny occupied.

Raoul didn't normally come to these public concerts, he saw no point as no money was made in them. But tonight, he came with hopes that perhaps the elusive Mademoiselle Daae would arrive. It angered him that the private investigator he was paying quite handsomely had not found anything; but Raoul was determined to uncover the whereabouts of the missing costume girl before her wealthy and isolated grandfather died.

"What the devil?" he hissed, when the falling shoe landed at his feet. He looked up at the ceiling of the box, seeing nothing, and then leaned out over the edge, trying to see where the shoe may have come from, but saw nothing.

"Is something wrong monsieur?" an usher appeared, having heard the Vicomte swearing.

"Tis nothing," Raoul muttered, his hand waving at the usher in a dismissive manner. He picked the shoe up and examined it, noting how fine it was. Where could such a thing come from? It was the kind of slipper a woman of great fashion would wear, but there were no boxes above him…and it had come from above…so where had it come from? He glanced back out over the edge of his box to the ceiling above. All he could see was the chandelier…and what looked to be a catwalk, although it was hard to tell with shadows covering it.

Impossible, he thought. No woman would be up there…must have been some drunken stage hand playing a trick. Well, he'd have that settled tomorrow. Raoul rose from the box, clearly bored from the evening's festivities. "Get me my carriage," he ordered the usher. He glanced one last time at the shoe, and decided to take it with him, as evidence to be used against whomever the idiot was that chose to play the prank.

A few more songs later, the performance had ended. Christine, like the rest of the audience, rose to her feet and clapped heartily to the performers on stage. "Oh!" she gasped, gripping the rope of the catwalk as she tried to find her balance.

"Is everything alright?" Erik asked, vaulting to his feet when he noticed her stumble.

"Oh…just…" she felt around with her foot, but couldn't find her missing shoe. "Excuse me," she muttered, lifting her skirts, trying to see where it had gone, but…it was nowhere to be seen. "How odd…" she murmured.

"What?" Erik asked, concern etched across his masked face.

Christine bit her lip, wondering if he would be terribly upset with her. "I can't find my slipper…the one to my left foot…it seems…oh no."

Erik knew the answer before she said another word. "I think we can be assured that since there was no gasping or screaming in the middle of the performance, your shoe did not hit anyone."

"Yes, but…shouldn't we be worried? I mean…don't you think someone will wonder who was up here?" Christine bit her lip, fearing that perhaps she had given away the Phantom's secret, but Erik couldn't help but grin at her worry.

"Nonsense," he assured her. "There is nothing to fear or fret about…" his eyes briefly caught that of a petrified stage hand who was walking along another nearby catwalk and who also turned and fled at the sight of the Phantom. "But we should be on our way."

Christine nodded her head, feeling tired from the night's events, still in awe of everything that they had shared. She felt so honored by what Erik had done, to think of her and bring her here to this performance, and she was so grateful for the growing friendship between the two of them…but her heart ached with love for him that she feared would never be returned.

She followed him safely down from the catwalk, and down the steps they had climbed to reach it, but she cursed her stupidity for losing her shoe, as the ground hurt her stocking-covered feet, (she had removed the other shoe and was now holding it). Sensing what she was thinking, Erik spun around and without a word, scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed next to nothing.

"OH!" she gasped, finding her arms around his neck and shoulders. "T-t-this is not necessary…t-t-thank you, but-"

"I will not have you hobble all the way back," he argued. "And you're tired…rest Christine…" his voice was soft, warm, and deep; very hypnotic. Christine's mouth closed and felt her eyes grow heavy, relishing the feel of his strong arms holding her, his black cape swirling around her, carrying her like one of the dark heroes from her books. Her head fell to his shoulder, and her eyes fluttered shut as he continued to carry her without struggle or complaint.

Erik was still surprised from what he had done. But it was as if an unknown instinct had taken over, and without a thought or care, he scooped her up and began to carry her as if…as if he had always done so. And she felt so right…she was small, but not thin; just the perfect shape really, and she fit so perfectly in his arms. He had not realized that he had been holding his breath when he felt her head fall to his shoulder. How could this be? How could this angel be here, with him, allowing him to hold her? To touch her? He was a monster! She had seen, several times, what he looked like beneath his mask! And yet…she had fallen asleep in his demon arms.

Oh God above…he was done for.

He placed her very carefully in the gondola, and then sailed them back to the shore of his lair. He picked her up without struggle once again, and carried her to her chamber, where he laid her softly, gently, upon her bed, her hair spilling around her pillow like a brown silken wave. He took a blanket and carefully laid it over her gown, checked that her fire was blazing warmly, and then pulled the lace curtains around the bed to offer her more privacy.

"Erik?"

He was startled by the soft voice, thinking she was asleep. "I'm here," he whispered, bending to one knee so his face was at the same level as hers.

Her eyes momentarily fluttered open so she could see him, and she smiled. "T-t-thank you…for tonight…" she whispered.

He smiled back and without thinking, found himself leaning forward and placing a kiss to her forehead. "It was my pleasure angel," he whispered back, before quickly rising and hurrying out of there.

What had possessed him to kiss her? He was amazed that she hadn't screamed at the feel of his odd-shaped lips touching her flawless skin. But her words rang through his head; she had thanked him for what he had done, for his surprise, for his gift to her. In a world where he saw countless women fawn over jewels and diamonds, his Christine had thanked him for taking her to a secret place, eating a simple meal, and watching a choral concert. Perhaps she was right; Christine was not like these women he had based Aminta on. If she were moved by something as simple as music…perhaps it was possible to dream, to believe that…that she could love–

"Madness," he scoffed at himself, before entering his chamber and grabbing hold of a bottle of wine. He always knew he was on the brink of madness, but now…now he feared he was quickly toppling over the edge. "I will control this," he ordered to himself before taking a deep drink. "I will conquer this!"

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas has come to Paris! On this happy day can Erik and Christine find the strength they need to confront their growing feelings?

_**Merriment** _

Raoul groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose while the managers before him argued back and forth about the notes they held in their hands. He had come to the Opera House that day to complain about the staff that was being careless overhead, bringing the infamous shoe that had fallen into his box. The managers however had other things on their minds.

"We can not ignore these any longer, Firmin! Something has to be done!" Andre shouted, throwing the notes he was holding up in the air.

Firmin rolled his eyes. "And what do you suggest? Going through with his orders? Stopping our schedule to rehearse and perform this…this…garbage?" Firmin said with disgust, motioning toward a copy of the finished opera that lay on his desk.

Raoul's eyes flashed to the score that lay on the desk and felt the anger rise within him. This Phantom thing was really going too far.

"What is that…" he asked, his voice clipped, "and when did it arrive?"

Firmin waved his hand nonchalantly. "A few days ago. Dreadful thing; I don't know why I haven't destroyed it yet." Although Raoul knew the answer to Firmin's query. While the older manager was not ready to admit it, his superstition towards the infamous Phantom was growing like his partner's.

Andre was massaging the temples of his head. "We have to do something; I mean it's going too far!" Before the others could protest, he quickly continued. "I'm not saying I believe that there is an Opera Ghost! I'm just saying…we can't treat this lightly anymore! I mean…look at these notes!" he practically thrusted them into Raoul's face. "Sabotage! Destruction! Death! Why, he's even threatened to cut down the chandelier if we do not comply!"

Raoul's hand hit Andre's, causing the notes to fly about, telling the younger manager exactly what he thought of the Phantom's notes.

Firmin, who always thought himself calm, collected, and realistic, found he too was at a loss. "I for one do not believe we should give in to the Phantom's demands…but…" he sighed, "Andre is right, something needs to be done about this character."

Raoul groaned and withdrew a cigar from his pocket. "So you're suggesting we light torches, grab our pitchforks, and storm the backstage of the Paris Opera House?" he took one long puff on the cigar and blew a cloud of smoke at the managers. "Thank you gentlemen, for showing me that I am indeed the patron of an insane asylum."

Andre ignored the Vicomte's sarcasm. "Monsieur, like you, I do not believe there is a 'Phantom of the Opera'." Raoul began to scoff, but Andre quickly continued. "I, like Firmin, do not believe in ghosts! But I do believe in pranksters; and I believe that is the case we have here."

Raoul took a long inhale from his cigar, pondering Andre's words. Perhaps these men had brains after all.

Firmin stepped forward nodding his head. "I too believe that is what we have here; someone who thinks it a great joke to make demands of the Paris Opera House in the name of its infamous ghost."

Raoul exhaled the smoke from his cigar. "That's what I've been telling you all along," he muttered, his gaze turning toward the fireplace in the office, his green eyes glowing with the fire's reflection. "Yet I do not find these jokes, these ghost stories amusing…especially since I'm losing more money than gaining, from them."

At the mention of money the managers tensed and began looking at each other nervously. Raoul took instant notice and felt his anger begin to boil again. "Tell me."

It wasn't a question; it was a demand.

"Well," Firmin started, his hands moving to straighten his suit jacket while his eyes avoided the Vicomte's. "It is simply…you see, Carlotta…"

Raoul was growing most impatient and he rubbed the burnt tip of his cigar on Firmin's desk to show his irritation.

"She refuses to sing," Andre finished.

If Raoul had been smoking at that exact moment, he would have begun choking. Instead, he looked as though someone had just come along and punched in him the stomach. "WHAT? WHY?" he demanded after the shock allowed him.

Andre quickly continued. "She's been receiving death threats! Personal letters sent to her! We only just found out about these yesterday," he quickly answered before Raoul could demand why he had not been informed of these threats to the Opera House's star.

"The last few performances have been disasters; she's been drugged, kidnapped, and taken ill by mysterious circumstances. And now with these letters…" Firmin sighed and handed the fuming Vicomte one of Carlotta's notes.

"My dear madam," Raoul began. "Your days at the Paris Opera are numbered. Be grateful it was not strychnine in the glass that you consumed before the performance of _Hannibal_. I will not be so kind in the future. A new rising star is coming down from the heavens to replace you…I suggest, senora, that you take my advice and end your time here in Paris before I end it permanently. I remain, ever, O.G."

Raoul's voice had become a hiss by the end of the note. He had not failed to notice that when the note was sealed, the wax seal was a red skull. This prankster did indeed have a flair for the dramatics.

"She destroyed all the other notes," Andre explained. "But she swears this one was her seventh."

Raoul immediately crumpled the note in his hand and tossed it into the roaring fireplace. "I have not invested this much money into a project, only to see it go bust due to a myth!" he spat, turning on the managers, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"I WANT TO KNOW WHO THIS PERSON IS!" he shouted. "I WANT AN INVESTIGATION CONDUCTED ON EVERY EMPLOYEE OF THIS THEATER!" he turned and gazed at the shoe that had fallen into his box the previous night. "There are people here who are not showing their betters the proper respect…AND I INTEND TO SMOKE THEM OUT!" he threw the shoe into the fire at that point, and both Andre and Firmin jumped as the thing erupted into flames.

"An…an investigation, monsieur?" Andre asked, unsure what exactly that entailed.

"Yes," Raoul hissed. "I want every man–" he paused as he saw Madame Giry pass the office, "–and woman interrogated. I know that these 'ghost stories' are popular amongst the ballet and that they are spread about by the stagehands. Start there…" he instructed. "But I want everyone questioned. And I want it done now."

He turned to go but both Firmin and Andre tried to call him back. "But monsieur! We have never gone about such things! How on earth do we do this?"

Raoul grabbed his gloves, hat, and walking stick before turning and snarling, "Just get it done! Or I'll remove my patronage from this place by the New Year!" He slammed the door shut to the office and stalked off in the direction Madame Giry had gone. Lucky for him, she was still in the grand foyer.

"Good morning, madam," Raoul said with a courteous bow, although it was all done for dramatic effect. She was on the top of his list of "would-be Phantoms".

Madame Giry turned with slight surprise at the Vicomte's voice, but returned his bow with a cold but courteous nod of her head. "Monsieur Vicomte," she whispered.

"I trust you are in good health?" Raoul asked, although he continued onward, not giving her the opportunity to reply. "I apologize if you overheard that dreadful argument in the manager's office."

"No apology is necessary monsieur," Madame Giry replied icily. "I do not make it a practice to listen to the private conversations of others."

Raoul flashed the ballet mistress a smile, although they both knew it was false. "We were discussing the letters that the 'Phantom of the Opera', or 'O.G.' as he addresses himself, has been sending. The content of some were rather…dark and monstrous. I pray, you have not been threatened by any means?" he asked oh so sweetly.

Madame Giry smiled, although it was a cold sarcastic smile. "I am touched by your concern monsieur…but I assure you, no threats have reached me, at least not yet."

Raoul was not surprised. "For that I am glad to hear. I must say…all these sudden threats and demands; oh I know letters have been sent before, but I have never seen this many. It seems this 'Phantom' is working extra hard to have things go his way, does it not?"

Madame Giry nodded her head. "Indeed. It is rather fascinating, I must say."

Raoul lifted an eyebrow. "Fascinating?"

Madame Giry could not hide the smile that was threatening to break. "Oh yes, quite fascinating. Fascinating that a character that you claim does not exist and that you have repeatedly sworn is nothing more than a myth…is causing you so much stress and costing you so much money."

Raoul's mouth fell open and he stared at the smiling ballet mistress. She bowed her head to him, saying, "Good day monsieur," before leaving him standing stunned in the foyer.

He felt his face burn, his skin turning red, red as fire, and before the anger threatened to burst, he stormed out of the Opera House, slamming his hat on his head, and took quick long strides to his carriage. Yet before he climbed in, a voice erupted from behind.

"Monsieur! Monsieur Vicomte!"

Raoul was in no mood to speak to anyone, but the last person he expected to see come running toward him was the man he had hired to find Christine.

"Oh thank God monsieur, the housekeeper told me I could find you at the Opera House, but I have been looking-"

Without a word Raoul reached forward, grabbed François by the collar of his coat, and pulled him into the carriage. "Idiot!" Raoul growled, his eyes searching the streets to see if anyone had taken notice, but people were going about their business as usual. He turned and eyed the private investigator who was mopping up his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. "I thought it was made quite clear that you were not to seek me out or come to this place!" he hissed, resisting every urge to beat the smaller man with his cane.

François bit his lip and glowered in his seat. "Forgive me monsieur, but…I had to come here! I have no choice," he groaned, hanging his head in shame.

Raoul rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers at the man, indicating for him to get on with whatever it was he had come to tell him. François quickly understood and proceeded to share his news.

"I am at a brick wall, monsieur," he sadly moaned. "I have been searching for the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Daae for weeks, but I have been unable to find anything new. As you know, I have been to the residence of the Marquise Clamont, but the household knew nothing about the young lady. The Marquise's valet was kind enough to speak with me and told me of the village that Daae and his family had resided in, but when I reached the village–which is a small farming community, nothing more than country bumpkins if I do say so monsieur," François added but quickly continued based on the look of annoyance on the Vicomte's face. "When I reached the village, no one could give me any information that I had not already learned through the Marquise's household. That the Marquise had seized the farm which had been the home to Daae and his daughter, and the two had gone to Paris with hopes of finding work at the Paris Opera House."

"Yes, yes, you're right, nothing that we didn't already know," Raoul muttered. "So there better be a point with this story, and a good point at that."

François sighed. "I was able to discover the apartment that Daae and the girl had been renting. The lady who runs the place informed me that the last time she had seen Daae and his daughter had been on the morning of October 24."

Raoul's head perked up at this. "The day of the opening gala," he whispered.

François nodded his head vigorously. "The woman has not seen either of them since, and neither had given any indication that they would not be returning. She held their place for a month, and after that, she gave their apartment to new tenants. She still has had no word."

Raoul was gazing out the window of his carriage at the Opera House. This mystery was growing more and more intriguing by the minute. For it was the night of the opening gala that Daae had come bursting into his club, raving about a monster–no, the Phantom–who had kidnapped Christine and was keeping her prisoner.

And since that day, the girl had not been seen since.

Raoul gripped his walking stick even tighter, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the Opera House, a cold feeling running through his blood.

"So you see monsieur, I have no choice…I must continue my investigation here," François explained, looking most distressed. "But not to worry, I will be most careful, I will avoid Madame Giry at all costs…although it will probably not matter," his voice sounded muffled, as if he was about to cry. "She has extracted her case from my services, believing me to be an imbecile," he wailed, quickly dabbing his eyes with the handkerchief.

Raoul groaned at the sound of François lament. "Get a hold yourself!" he hissed, returning his gaze back to the Opera House. A plan was forming in his mind…

"What do you know about the Paris Opera House, François?" he casually asked, his gaze never leaving the grand building.

François blew his nose and followed the Vicomte's gaze. "Regarded as one of the greatest architectural gems of Paris. Why, it's hailed to be one of the greatest arenas for music in all of Europe. But I do not consider myself an opera man to be honest," he sniffled.

Raoul ignored François' last comment. "Have you ever heard of the place…being haunted?" he asked, turning his attention back to the private investigator.

François was surprised by this question. He had considered the Vicomte to be a man of reason, not a man who was ruled by flights of fancy. "I'm afraid I have not, monsieur…but every building has a story, does it not? And…from what I understand, people who work in theater are a superstitious lot."

"Indeed," Raoul muttered, glancing at the Opera House one last time before focusing all of his attention on François. "There is a ghost story that haunts the Paris Opera House…a specter known as the 'Phantom of the Opera'. There's no such creature of course…but someone has decided to take this 'myth' and try to make it real."

François nodded his head, reaching into his coat pocket for a pen and some paper. "So you'd like me to track down this 'Phantom' for you monsieur?"

Raoul's eyes widened at François' words. "No you fool! I'm not giving you a new assignment, especially since you haven't solved the old one!" he turned from François in disgust. "I am conducting an investigation of every employee of the Paris Opera House," he paused, his eyes reflecting the fire that had blazed in them back in the managers' office. "I intend to smoke the villain out," he growled low beneath his breath. "And if anyone becomes suspicious as to why you are going about asking questions of the allusive Christine Daae, this is to be your cloak of disguise."

Now François understood, although he had rather hoped that the Vicomte would change his mind about the girl and pay him for his troubles or give him something new to chase. He was finding this search tiresome. "I shall between my inquiries–"

"Today," Raoul finished, rapping his walking stick against the ceiling of his carriage.

François paled and found himself stuttering. "T-t-t-today?"

Raoul nodded his head while the driver opened the carriage door. "And I want the information by Christmas," he added with a wave of his hand, indicating to François to leave his carriage.

François' mouth fell open. "C-c-c-christmas? B-b-but that's less than a week!"

Raoul rolled his eyes and grabbed the man once again by the collar of his coat, practically throwing him out of the carriage. "I'm paying you handsomely enough for you to deliver that information to me by tomorrow! Don't prove me wrong!" he roared, slamming the door shut and shouting to the driver to move on. 

* * *

 

It was a cold morning, the day Christmas came. While the rest of Paris sat huddled around the fire, throwing on shawls and rubbing their fingers together to bring life back to them, the family that lived beneath the Paris Opera House felt nothing but warmth spread throughout their bodies and souls.

Christine had been dreaming quite contently when she was awoken by the sound of an exuberant Rudolph coming to tell her that it was Christmas morning. "H-h-h-hurry!" he shouted, jumping up and down. "S-s-suzette is a-a-already making us a feast! A-a-a-and Gustave w-w-will lead the s-s-songs and there are p-p-presents, a-a-and stories…oooh hurry Christine!"

Rudolph's enthusiasm was contagious, and like a child, Christine threw the blankets off and leapt out of bed, surprised to find her chamber warm and comfortable. The fire in her small fireplace was blazing brightly; Christine was always amazed by how strong it burned when every night it seemed to have been reduced to a few glowing embers. Yet despite the warm comfort in her chamber, Christine knew it was not so in the stone tunnels between the caverns. Each cavern and chamber had a fire pit, and during the winter months, she had learned that they kept them blazing almost every day. But the tunnels was where the cold air trapped itself, and while the gowns Erik had retrieved for her were lovely, they were not equipped for the cold December weather. With Suzette's help, Christine had been able to make herself three plain dresses, each made with a sturdy thick material that kept out the cold as best it could.

A sad sigh escaped her lips as she slipped one of her winter dresses on. Her eyes had fallen to the beautiful ivory gown that she wore on the night Erik took her to the opera. She truly felt like a princess in that gown…and for one night, she could pretend that Erik was her dark prince.

That night had only been a week ago, but since then, Erik's behavior had changed back to being aloof, antisocial, and melancholy. Their rehearsals were shorter than normal, and he only spoke to her when instructing her. When she attempted to speak to him of things other than music, Erik would calmly ask if she would be so kind as to leave, never raising his voice, never criticizing her efforts, yet never praising them either. It was like he had become a shell…and yet she noticed he was more obsessed with his work than ever before.

One night while she was reading in her chamber, she overheard Jacque complaining to Gustave about the note errands he was running for Erik. "I've been delivering notes every night this week! Last night he had me go on three different trips!"

Christine wondered what these mysterious notes were. She remembered how Erik had revealed to her his desire to have his opera performed by the end of the season, but she had never truly understood how he would go about convincing the managers, not to mention Carlotta, to allow such a thing to occur. Were the notes he was having Jacque deliver letters to entice the managers to obey him? A cold feeling ran through her, as Christine knew that Erik ruled the world above using fear and fear alone. If there was any sense of enticement in those notes, it was enticement to not disobey him.

Her fingers did up the buttons on the front of her dress and she glanced once again at the ivory gown which lay across a chair near her dressing table. Would Erik be there with the others? Did he celebrate Christmas? If Jacque celebrated it, then Erik by all means should. She tried to smile at this new hope, believing that at Christmas, Erik would make the effort to join the others in celebration…but a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she was being silly for hoping such a thing.

She missed their conversations, the walks they would take around his underground labyrinth and the theater above after the lights were off and everyone had gone home. She missed sharing her ideas with him, her hopes and dreams, and she missed hearing his. Even after Erik opened up to her, he was still as mysterious as ever. There were still so many things she didn't know about him, but she felt that in time, when he was comfortable, he would share his hopes and dreams for the future, but now…now it seemed he was avoiding her and the friendship they had created. She wanted to make things right again, to gain his trust…and perhaps more.

Deep in her heart she knew the things she wanted, and it was more than friendship, more than trust. But for today, her Christmas wish would not ask for more, at least…not yet.

Christine grabbed a shawl and quickly set off toward the chamber that the others occupied, clutching the fabric around her shoulders to keep the chill of the tunnels from her. With each step, hope arose that perhaps Erik would be there, perhaps he greet her as she entered, extend his hand to her and raise to his lips, wishing her a most merry Christmas.

"Christine!" Rudolph greeted warmly from the moment Christine appeared in the passageway of the chamber. The others turned and greeted her as well; Suzette, Gustave…even Jacque, who was sitting huddled in a shadowy corner with a bottle of mulled wine in his good hand, lifted it in her direction as a greeting…but Erik was nowhere to be seen.

"Now c-c-c-can we o-o-open our p-presents?" Rudolph asked Suzette, bouncing eagerly from one foot to the other. Suzette grinned and nodded her head, and Rudolph leapt for joy again before diving toward a small meager pile of boxes, each tied with a single blue ribbon.

"Now Rudolph, remember your manners," Suzette scolded, although everyone including Rudolph knew it was not serious. Rudolph grinned and quickly began passing everyone else their own present before opening his own.

"Oh! OH!" he cried happily, clutching the new book he had received to his chest. "T-t-t-thank you!" he murmured, his large fingers lovingly caressing the book's cover as if it were precious gold. "A-a-a-aray…a-a-aray-b-ann–"

"Arabian," Gustave kindly corrected to which Rudolph thanked.

"Arabian," he repeated. "Arabian Nights. H-h-have you r-r-r-read it Gustave?"

Gustave smiled but shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but I have heard of the book. I look forward to you reading it to me though," he added kindly.

Rudolph grinned and watched while the others opened their gifts. Suzette gasped with surprise at the beautiful yards of fabric she had been given. The colors were a rich scarlet, a deep emerald, and a royal purple. They looked like velvet but felt like silk. "Oh they are too lovely! But I couldn't possibly use them for dresses–"

"Why not?" Christine interjected. "You would look like a queen wearing such finery," she grinned.

Suzette blushed deeply. "I'll be sure to make you something from them my dear–"

But Christine refused. "Thank you, but they are for you and you alone. I have many splendid costumes, but for all the hard work you do, you deserve to be seen and dressed as the rightful queen that you are."

The others, including Jacque, gave a hearty "Here! Here!" to Christine's words.

Jacque said nothing of his gift, although anyone could see that he deeply appreciated the new jacket he had been given to replace the tattered one he already wore. And finally, Gustave opened his gift, a small package, but what it held stunned him silent.

"What is it?" Christine asked, seeing the awed expression on his face.

"It's…it's…" he finally murmured when he found his voice. "It's…an old rosary that…that the monks gave me when I came to them as a baby," he whispered, choking back the tears that threatened to break forth. "But…look at it!" he gasped, holding up the beautiful silver rosary for Christine to see. "It was tarnished, rusted…beyond any hope for repair…and the chain had broken too…but…this is the same rosary, this is my rosary and it looks like it did when I first received it!"

"Oh dry your eyes," Jacque muttered, taking another swig from his bottle. "It's just a silly little cross…" but Gustave could tell that Jacque was hiding something.

"You did this, didn't you?" he asked.

Jacque's eyes widened at what he considered was an accusation of murder. "What? I did nothing of the sort!"

"You were the only one to whom I mentioned about losing it! I remember very clearly, a few weeks ago, telling you of my distress."

Jacque rolled his eyes. "Well it had no proper chain so naturally it was easy to lose–"

"Did you get the chain?" Gustave asked, feeling his heart warm all the more.

Jacque laughed. "Me? I'm the last person who would go up there to find you a stupid chain for your stupid cross. I had nothing to do with it," he grumbled, folding his arms over his chest and focusing on the fire pit in the center of the cavern.

Despite Jacque's words, Gustave knew that the man with the cold iron hook which matched his cold iron personality had something to do with his newly restored rosary. Perhaps it was something as simple as cleaning it, but whatever he did, Gustave was most grateful.

Christine found herself speculating whether Jacque did have anything to do with Gustave's gift, but when she saw a tiny smile flicker against Jacque's lips when Gustave wasn't looking, she knew she had her answer.

"Open y-y-yours, Christine!" Rudolph cried out, pointing to the large box at her feet.

Christine blushed, not truly expecting a gift from anyone, but smiled broadly in thanks. "Who is this from?" she asked, noticing that there was no tag on the box.

Everyone chuckled and shook their heads. "We don't share that information, no matter how hard some may try to learn it," Suzette said, looking directly at Gustave.

Gustave laughed at Suzette's comment. "Half the fun is trying to guess who got who what. But for now, just consider it a gift, from all of us…"

Christine giggled with the others, but a sudden realization came to her. "I…I didn't get anyone a gift," she murmured, feeling utterly horrible. It was Christmas! She knew it was Christmas, but she had forgotten to do anything for the kind hearts of her new friends.

"Oh my dear," Suzette soothed, coming towards her and patting her hand. "Don't fret about such things, you have brought us all a gift if I may say so…you have brought light to our dreary little world here…and your friendship is a gift far finer than any fabric in the world."

Christine blushed and felt a tear trickle down her cheek at Suzette's kind words. Rudolph rushed forward then and enveloped Christine in a huge hug, practically crushing her bones, but she smiled the whole time, even while Suzette scolded him to let her go. "O-o-open it Christine!" he whispered excitedly, wanting to see her reaction to what was underneath.

Christine smiled and untied the ribbon, making the process agonizingly slow, especially for Rudolph who wanted to see what was inside. Finally, Christine could not contain her own excitement, and ripped through the box like an enthusiastic child. "OH!" Rudolph cried out, extremely alarmed. "No! B-b-b-be g-g-g-gentle! You'll s-s-scare her!"

Christine stopped and stared up at Rudolph. "Her?" she asked, wondering what was inside her package. But she did not have to ask any further, for a tiny furry black head popped out and let out a great loud "meow!" that echoed off the cavern walls.

"What the hell is that?" Jacque cried out, pointing at the furry thing that was scrambling to get out of the box.

"Well it's obviously a cat," Gustave explained. "Or has the wine taken its full effect?"

Jacque ignored Gustave's joke. "I don't like cats…we are not having any cats down here!"

Rudolph stood ready to protect the black kitten that was playing with the blue ribbon from Christine's present. "She's C-c-christine's gift. She w-w-won't harm anything!"

Suzette sighed and shook her head. "I guess we know who's responsible for Christine's gift," she looked up at Rudolph with scrutiny. "We've talked about this before Rudolph–"

"S-s-she was s-s-starving!" he defended. "And she's an o-o-orphan! She would have froze if I h-h-hadn't helped. I j-j-just thought…that Christine would like her," he whispered, looking down at his feet, his face turning a deep shade of red.

Christine was deeply moved by Rudolph's tale, and her heart went out to him. "Oh thank you for giving her to me, Rudolph," she whispered with deepest sincerity. "She's so beautiful…and quite lively too!" she grinned, pointing to how the kitten was attacking the box she had been placed in. The others couldn't help but laugh a little at the sight.

"S-s-s-so you l-like her?" Rudolph asked, his giant hand reaching down and very gently petting the tiny kitten.

Christine smiled up at him. "I do, very much. But…you know, I confess, I know nothing about how to take care of cats…do you think you could help me look after her?"

Rudolph's face lit up like a candle's flame. "Oh! OH! Yes! Yes! I p-p-promise to do my b-b-best with helping!" he grinned broadly, looking happier than ever.

Christine smiled and picked up the blue ribbon, purposefully waving it in front of the black kitten, enticing it to play. "What should we call her?" she asked.

Rudolph couldn't help but grin. "I…I actually already g-g-g-gave her a name," he blushed. "C-c-c-carman…after the opera."

Christine nodded her head. "I like Carman; a well suited name for a cat," she said with a smile.

"Bloody hell," Jacque muttered, taking another long swig from his bottle. "Just keep the hairball away from me."

The others couldn't help but laugh, and Christmas continued in the Phantom's labyrinth. While Suzette cooked over the fire pit, Gustave read the Christmas story from his bible to the others. Even Jacque listened, although he would never admit it. Afterwards, Christine led them in singing Christmas carols, and then time came for the Christmas feast.

It was meager compared to the grand feasts that men and women of great fashion and wealth would have on this day, but the glow of friendship that surrounded the table made the goose stew, the roast potatoes, the bread, cheese, and apples, seem like the grandest feast in the world. Even little Carman got her share of goose stew, with much thanks to Rudolph who was sneaking it to her under the table.

And yet, while the others shared jokes and passed the wine around, Christine felt her heart grow heavy with memories of the past. True, this was one of the grandest Christmas' she had ever experienced; but she deeply missed her parents. Her mother would spend all Christmas morning and afternoon cooking for the three of them, and it was always more food than three people could eat, but it was her mother's greatest joy. Christine's father would play carols with his violin, and the three of them would sing into the night in front of the fireplace till sleep finally conquered.

She wondered what her father was doing on this cold day. Was he alright? Was he warm? Was he getting enough food? Was he scared and worrying for her? She wished she could tell him not to worry, that she was truly alright, that she was even happy…but more than anything, she longed to see him again, to hold his hands and hear his voice.

"Christine?"

She was startled and looked up at Suzette who was looking most concerned. "Are you alright my dear? You look…distressed."

Christine tried to smile, but it was no use. "I…I was just…" she didn't want to ruin their happiness with her own worries. "Where is Erik? Will he be joining us?" she asked, hoping for a positive answer, that he always came for the Christmas feast…but everyone looked away and she knew what the real answer was.

"He told me yesterday to bring him a tray," Suzette explained. "He is working very hard, getting things ready for his opera, as you know," she whispered.

Christine nodded her head, but still felt her heart break at the other woman's words. Why? Why was he acting this way? Why couldn't he just, for Christmas, leave his vast rich chamber…and be with the ones who…who loved him? She felt her cheeks darken at this thought.

"Has he received a gift?" she asked, wondering if Erik participated in the gift-giving mystery.

Once again, everyone looked away. "The Master's not one for games," Jacque muttered, picking a piece of potato from his yellow teeth. Yet despite his gruff exterior, Christine could tell that even Jacque was affected by Erik's absence, not just from the feast, but from everything they did for Christmas.

As if to change the subject, Gustave slammed one of his hands down on the table. "I've got it!" he cried. "Jacque is responsible for my present–" to which Jacque groaned again. "–Suzette is responsible for Jacque's, I am responsible for yours, Suzette," Gustave said with a grin.

"You did that?" Suzette cried. "Oh! Gustave! You know I don't like it when you spoil surprises!" but she was truly smiling despite trying to sound cross.

"Well, I shall keep it a secret to how I came upon the fabric," he grinned, to which she threw a bread roll at him. "And as we all know, Rudolph is responsible for giving Christine her new kitten."

"But that still leaves Rudolph's book," Christine pointed out.

"The Master!" Rudolph exclaimed. "H-h-he got me m-m-my present?"

"He's the only one left," Gustave grinned.

Christine looked confused. "But…I thought you said–"

"The Master doesn't like it when we give him anything," Jacque muttered. "But that doesn't mean he won't participate by exchanging something with one of us."

Christine was troubled by this new information. It was nice that Erik had participated somewhat in their Christmas…but it still upset her to think that he would have nothing to do with it, even by rejecting gifts for himself.

"Are you alright my dear?" Suzette asked, noticing the troubled expression on Christine's face.

She faked a smile and nodded her head. "Oh, I'm fine, I um…I think I need to lie down actually, that dinner was so good but so filling…oh Suzette, you're a wonderful cook."

Everyone around the table clapped for Suzette who blushed but thanked all of them. "Well look after yourself my dear! Don't want you hurting your pretty voice."

Christine smiled and asked Rudolph if he would be so kind as to take care of Carman for the evening, to which he was all too pleased to do. She left the merry group then, intentionally heading back to her chamber, but upon second thought…found herself wandering through the cavern's many cold passages. It wasn't long before she came upon the underground lake and without second thought, climbed into the boat and rowed herself across.

Despite the darkness that surrounded her, Christine moved with ease through the passages, climbing steps, slipping in through empty chambers, and dodging weakened floor boards to avoid injury. At last, she finally reached her destination; the tower that led to the Opera House's roof. She climbed the narrow steep steps with ease, although she knew that later when she wished to come back down, she would have much more difficulty. But right now, all she cared about was breathing in the cold evening air, having a chance to be by herself and wrestle with her thoughts alone. She opened the trap door and was greeted by a blast of cold wind, but she welcomed it, climbing through the opening, breathing in the freshness of the cold air…and gasped when she felt a hand grab her wrist and pulled her up.

"What are you doing here?" came a deep voice etched with darkness and surprise.

Christine didn't have to look at the face to know who it was. She wrestled her arm free and refused to meet his eyes. "Can't a woman get some fresh air if she wishes?" she retorted, walking directly past Erik and looking out towards the quiet city. In the distance Notre Dame chimed the hour.

Erik ran a hand through his tousled hair, still coming over the surprise of seeing her emerge through the door. He thought for sure it had been a stage hand or thief, someone who was not supposed to be up there, but when he saw Christine's pretty face emerge instead–he was flooded with both relief and annoyance.

This was the only place he could conceive of escaping her presence! Her scent was embedded in his chambers, and he could hear her voice, her laughter, carry on the wind that traveled through the tunnels. He had to get away; he had to escape the wild emotions that were confusing his soul, his mind, and his heart. Ever since that night at the opera, things were different. Ever since he held her in his arms, carried her to her chamber, and kissed her forehead…things had changed. He had dreamt of her before, fantasized about her, and how could he forget the incident when he had to seek out relief for himself with his own hand. But it was easier then to disregard what he was feeling; then it was lust, pure and simple. Now…ever since they began to become friends…now it was something more. Something he was not sure he wished to resurrect within himself. And yet what he felt towards Christine was far different than what he ever felt for Marie. But it still frightened him; it was still something he did not feel he could control. So he found himself, once again, avoiding her presence when possible. Yet despite his success of keeping his distance for the past week, Erik knew as he looked upon her now, the wind blowing in her hair, the moon shining in her eyes, the rosy color that painted her cheek…he knew that if something was not said or done, he would go mad and lose whatever control he had.

He did not believe he could harm her; no…he could never harm such an angel. But he may frighten her without meaning to. And he was not sure if his heart could withstand to see fear and hatred in her beautiful blue eyes.

Christine felt his gaze upon her, but she kept her back to him, not flinching one bit, just staring out over the city. Thoughts from before returned, thoughts of her father, and as she clutched the woolen shawl around her shoulders to keep out the cold Christmas wind, she wondered if he was warm enough, wherever he was.

Erik saw something glisten in the moonlight, and realized it was a tear that was slowly trickling down her cheek. His breath caught as he gazed upon her, and he fought the urge to go to her side and envelope her in his arms, to shield her from whatever sadness or fear was causing her such grief. He wanted to feel her body against his again, he wanted to comfort her, he wanted to protect her, he wanted….he wanted her.

"You're thinking of your father…aren't you?" he whispered. It was Christmas after all, and while Christine never spoke of her family, he knew deep within his being that she missed him dearly.

Christine said nothing, simply nodded her head for fear of sobbing. She quickly wiped her eyes, hugging the shawl even tighter to her body.

"I am sorry."

She couldn't take it any longer, she whirled around and marched over to him, practically standing toe to toe with him. "Why? Why are you sorry? What exactly are you apologizing for?"

Erik was momentarily stunned by her change in behavior. He found himself taking a step backwards. "W-w-what?"

"I want to know what you're apologizing for," she stated simply, her arms folding across her chest. "Are you simply saying it because you pity me? Well don't. Because I don't want your pity just as you don't want mine!" she snapped. "Or are you sincerely, genuinely, apologizing for something else?"

Erik found himself growing annoyed at her words. "And what should I be apologizing for?" he asked. "Obviously you know a reason, so I am eager to hear it," he dryly said.

Christine lifted her chin high. "Why have you been so short with me this week?" she demanded. "Have I greatly displeased you? What have I done that has caused you to avoid me at all costs and keep our rehearsals at a bear minimum?" she sighed and felt the fight within her sag. "I…I don't want to fight you," she sighed. "But…I do want to understand why this change," she lifted her eyes to his. "A week ago, everything was wonderful. We…we went to the opera together and it was a magical night!" she exclaimed, smiling at the memory. "But the next day…everything was different," she bit her lip and turned away again, gazing back out over the city. "Is it my voice? Have you grown tired of my voice–"

"No, of course not," he interrupted.

Christine softly smiled at this, but it was her next question that would determine whether her heart would break or not. "Is it…is it me?" she whispered. "Have you grown tired of…of me?" she wanted to look at him but was afraid, afraid of what truth she may find in his dark mysterious amber eyes. "I know I can be a bother, wanting to talk about silly things like books and philosophy, when you are a serious composer with an opera you're trying to debut; a-am I simply being…too…too forward? Am I being…annoying or…or b-b-bothersome?" she choked on her last words, trying to hold back any tears that threatened to shed.

Erik said nothing, he simply came up from behind her, his large gloved hands, hands that had killed men and caused terror, hands that had bled for the sake of music, but now gently fell upon her shoulders, and without struggle, turned her to face him, his hands falling softly down her arms, not letting her go, but not drawing her closer, although he dearly wanted to.

"Never," he whispered. "I could never grow tired of you…you…" he paused and found himself smiling at a memory. "What was it that you said that night…the toast you made…to the 'angel of music', yes?" Christine blushed at the memory but found herself smiling and nodding her head. "You are that…you are my angel of music, Christine Daae," he whispered with the deepest sincerity. "You have brought light to my darkness, beauty to my music, and…" he wanted to tell her how she brought heaven to his hell, but felt foolish, so he stopped. Reluctantly, he released her, but neither stepped back. "Can you forgive me?" he whispered, his eyes full of hope that she would. He knew he had not given her a straight forward answer for his behavior, but he hoped that she would not further question him on that, as he himself was still making sense of it.

Yet Christine's heart felt a glimmer of hope rise within her breast. Perhaps…perhaps the fearsome Phantom of the Opera was learning to trust and…just perhaps, care for another person the way a hero and heroine care for one another. "Of course," she whispered back, her eyes sparkling and her smile spreading across her face.

Erik felt a soft smile pull at the ends of his mouth, and for a long moment, the two of them stood close together, practically toe to toe, and Erik found himself bending his head just slightly, while Christine, her eyes going wider all the while, felt her head tilt upwards.

A rush of cold wind blew over them and Erik immediately straightened. "You'll freeze…come, we best get back inside."

Christine awoke from the trance his eyes had created and she quickly nodded her head, her face completely flushed. "Yes, quite right," she whispered, although the cold night air had little effect on the warmth she was feeling.

As before, Erik took the rope that hung from the trap door, expertly wrapping his leg around a part, creating the hold for his foot, and held his hand out to Christine. Last time, Christine had clung to Erik out of fear from falling, her face buried against his shoulder so she would not have to see. But this time, as she entered his embrace, she did not hide her face but locked her eyes with his. Erik's arm tightened around her waist, and slowly, they floated to the floor like a snowflake in a gentle breeze; twisting and twirling with the rope, and the whole time, their eyes never left the other.

"Thank you," Christine whispered after they landed safely.

"My pleasure," Erik whispered back, meaning every word.

They walked in silence then, past the curtains, the stage, and down the steps that led to the underground lake. Christine broke the silence, telling Erik about the Christmas celebrations that went on with the others. She warned him that a new face had come to stay, meaning the black kitten named Carman, to which Erik groaned at first, but found himself chuckling. While they were on the boat, Christine felt it was time to finally ask Erik, "Why is it that you don't celebrate with the others?"

Erik said nothing at first, his whole concentration on steering the boat. "I'm not one for celebrations," he simply said. "I wouldn't want to drag the spirits of others down."

Christine frowned at this. "If Jacque can celebrate and not bring spirits down, I do not think you are in danger of doing so."

Erik found himself chuckling again. "Perhaps not…but I am very busy, and had much to do."

Christine frowned more at this. "So busy that you needed to retreat to the roof of the Paris Opera House?"

Erik said nothing, simply climbed out of the boat and tethered it before helping Christine out. She sighed as she realized he was not going to answer her question. "We missed you," she explained. Still, he said nothing; his face was entirely unreadable. "I missed you."

That caused him to pause. He slowly turned to look at her, his face shadowed by the collar of his cape, but his eyes seemed to glow like those of a panther.

Christine could tell he was still not going to say anything, so she took a deep breath and continued. "I…I just…" what was she trying to say exactly? "I consider you all to be dear friends of mine…a family to me, actually," she whispered. "And…I felt that a part of my family…was missing when you weren't there."

Erik straightened himself to his full towering height and looked down at her with curious eyes. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but he was still so unreadable in these shadows.

"I apologize," Erik finally said, bowing his head. "I did not mean to cause you or the others sadness," he took a step closer towards her. "I just have never felt that my presence would be…desired at such occasions. Perhaps, I simply felt I was not worthy to partake."

Christine found her hand rising and to the surprise of them both, caressing his unscarred cheek. Erik froze at the touch of her hand, his heart practically coming to a stop. "You think too little of yourself," she said with all the honesty and caring she had. "You are worthy of happiness Erik…you bring happiness to all of us here…" and she thought of the happiness that he brought especially to her life.

She found herself blushing furiously as her other hand rose and touched the smooth surface of his mask that covered the disfigured side of his face. "Rudolph deeply loved the gift you gave him…but I learned that no one has given you a gift. So," she said, swallowing. "it is only right that…that I give you your gift, as I am the only one left who hasn't given a present."

Erik who had been frozen this whole time, yet relishing the feel of her small delicate hands upon him, finally opened his mouth to ask what she meant…but was stopped short, when Christine held his face, stood up on the tips of her toes, and placed her lips against his own.

The kiss was brief, but it felt like a sweet eternity. It was just the gentle brush of her lips across his, but in that moment, in that gentle brushing of lips, Erik felt his heart explode with wonder and amazement, and Christine felt her love finally pouring out and shouting for joy at being free. Neither of them moved, and finally, Christine leaned back, back down to her height, her soft hands releasing his face, and the two of them stood in front of the other, neither speaking, neither moving, simply staring at the other and breathing erratically.

"Merry Christmas Erik," Christine whispered, before moving past him to return to her chamber.

Erik said nothing, he simply stood where he was, his chest rising and falling as if he had run a marathon. Truly, he had been holding his breath the whole while. He closed his eyes, the feel of her lips still fresh upon his own. He ran his tongue along them and could taste them there.

It was the first Christmas present he had ever been given…and the sweetest.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The music lessons get interesting...

_**Seduction** _

The days that followed Christmas were awkward days for both Erik and Christine. After the kiss, Christine had retreated to her chamber, blushing furiously, wondering if she had done the right thing, if perhaps she had jeopardized the steady friendship they had been building. In her heart she knew she loved him, but she was afraid of saying the words out loud for fear of what he would think of her.

She remembered the night he had saved her from being raped; while she was most grateful to him, the two of them despised each other, and she remembered all too well the words he had said to her, how he was not some knight in shining armor from a fairy tale. Christine couldn't help but smile at the memory. Erik was far from being a knight on a white horse…and she would have it no other way.

He was tall, dark, and brooding. His temper was short, his emotions were like stone, and his patience was extremely thin. And yet, she had heard him laugh, seen him smile, and felt his kindness. He gave her this beautiful chamber, taught her to sing like a star, calmed her fears, and on the night he took her to the opera, carried her back without protest after losing her shoe. Erik was still very dark, still short-tempered, and she had a feeling that he would be as brooding and stone-like as a gargoyle, but she hoped and prayed that with every day they spent together, with every conversation they had, she had been able to chip away at the stone barrier he kept.

She tossed and turned in her bed that night, remembering the kiss with every breath of her body.

It had been brief, fleeting; a simple brush of their lips and then it was done.

…but it had been the most electrifying, heated sensation Christine had ever felt. Had Erik felt it too?

Christine was not an experienced kisser, she had only been kissed once before, by a farm boy in her village when she was fifteen, and the experience, she recalled, was not spectacular.

Was it the hypnotic way he held himself when they were together? The way he stood, the way he looked at her? Often she found his voice, deep and rich, dark and soothing, to be the most hypnotic thing about him, but his very presence was having such a deep effect on her, that in that fleeting moment, Christine could not hold herself back. She came towards him, placed her hands against his skin, as if it were the most natural thing to do…and stood up as high as she could and kissed him, as if it too, were the most natural thing to do.

But the sensation she got from it was nothing natural. It was everything Erik was; sensual, dark, and extremely seductive. It had only been a light brush of lips, and yet she recalled a strange trembling feeling develop in her knees, in the pit of her stomach, and that shot through her body to a point between her legs.

Christine was young and innocent, but she was not ignorant. After all, she grew up on a farm and knew all about animals and their mating rituals. But her mother had never told her what it felt like to feel…intense passion for a man. Did it…did it hurt when a man and woman lie together? She had heard stories in the village; boys boasting to one another. They seemed to get something from the act, but was it pleasant for women? Was it normal for a girl to question such things? To feel such sensations as she felt when she kissed Erik? She had to admit…she liked the sensation. Would it always be like that? Erik was surprised by her kiss, but…did he feel what she felt? Did he…did he know about such things?

Christine found herself blushing furiously and scolding herself immensely for thinking such things. If Erik did not share her feelings of love, how then could he share her feelings of passion? She bit her lip, wondering slightly if…if he, like other men it seemed, was…"experienced". She shook her head immediately, not sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.

She knew he wore the mask to cover his scars, and even if his face was not disfigured, she knew Erik was not what society would call "fashionably handsome". He was large, broad, like a worker, with a workman's calloused hands, and strong arms, shoulders, and back. His hair was black and somewhat wild; it was not overly long, but it fell just short of touching his shoulders. His face was rough looking as well (and this was the non-scarred side). When she touched his cheek, she remembered how it felt like sandpaper. Erik had no sign of a beard, his face looked clean-shaven, but the skin felt irritated, rough, not alabaster smooth. But it felt right with him, just as his roughened fingers felt right when he offered her his hand. No, he was not handsome by society's standards…but no other man had ever been as devastatingly attractive to her as Erik was.

The way he moved, spoke, even the way he looked at her! Her body screamed with desire as she felt his eyes upon her. These bold and unashamed feelings frightened her, for she had no idea how to handle them. For the first time in her life, Christine was beginning to understand what it felt like to lust after a person.

Yet more than anything, she wanted to teach him love. She loved him; for how long, she was unsure, but it had been growing for quite some time. She hoped and prayed that perhaps his feelings towards her were growing as well. After all, he had entrusted her with the secrets of his lair.

But did that mean he trusted her with his heart?

The next few days were extremely awkward. Christine arrived at Erik's chamber for her lesson, unsure what to say, unsure how to behave, and worrying how he would react when he saw her.

Erik, who had been feeling emotions of joy, fear, uncertainty, and desire, stared at Christine as she entered. She wore a simple maroon gown, plain in its appearance, and yet she radiated in it. Her eyes reminded him of the ocean, deep and blue, like the sea he had crossed when the carnival had "bought" him. Her hair was the color of the earth, and it felt like silk. Now and then, when she walked by him, he'd catch wisps of it, and he longed to thrust his hands into her dark strands and run his fingers through the curls. And her body…dear God in heaven, so many times he recalled the night he saw her bathing. It took every ounce of will power he had to not return and watch her again. While his desire for her was growing like wildfire, his respect for her had grown even more.

But new thoughts and feelings were racing through him now, for he continued to recall the kiss she had given him. In truth, it was the first kiss he had ever received. While he was not "inexperienced" when it came to women, he had never allowed the ladies he paid for a moment's pleasure to kiss him…or be close to his face at all. But her kiss, Christine's sweet fleeting kiss, had changed all that. In that brief but blissful moment, he knew what heaven smelled, tasted, and felt like. It was the closest he'd ever be to heaven.

"G-g-good morning Erik," Christine stuttered, quickly clearing her throat to try and sound as normal as possible.

Erik nodded his head, not trusting his own voice at the moment, and for a while, the two stared at one another, neither moving nor speaking. Christine felt her legs sway slightly, and was sure her knees would buckle if she didn't do something.

"I–"

"Shall we–"

They both stopped and gave a rather nervous sounding chuckle, before Erik broke the awkward silence and moved around the piano, opening the score to a later portion in his opera. "Come," he said, instructing her to approach the piano. "There is a song I have longed to hear you sing ever since you mastered the role of Aminta." Christine couldn't help but smile at this. When it came to music, Erik was ever the professional.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked.

Christine gazed at the score and felt her eyes go wide. "Point of No Return?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She remembered the song all too well. The music was sensuous and the lyrics were graphic. Oh God above, how was she going to survive singing this song in front of him?

"In _Don Juan_ , this takes place towards the end when Don Juan is attempting to seduce Aminta to his bed, triumphing over her lover and before he murders them both."

Christine held back her groan of disdain. _Extremely cheerful_ , she thought sarcastically.

"Now, it is a duet," Erik instructed. "But for right now, we shall concentrate on Aminta's part. Ready?" And they began.

Christine sang the role as best she could, although her heart was not entirely in the music, as Erik became all too aware half-way through. He first thought it was because they had not had the proper warm-ups to singing, so they went through those for a good half hour before coming back to the score. But once again, Christine struggled.

It was not the music or the rhythm of the song that caused her to struggle, but simply the memory of the opera's sad, tragic story. She knew deep in her heart that it didn't have to end the way it did; that Aminta truly loved Don Juan despite his disfigurement and that she would not betray his trust.

Christine knew deep in her heart that it was she, she was describing, not Aminta.

After an hour of Christine's depressing singing, Erik sighed and chose to end their rehearsal, believing it to be a case of post-Christmas fatigue. Christine left his chamber then, believing it to be for the best, but was determined to think of a way to convince Erik to perhaps change the ending to his opera. Or at least to consider it.

The next day was not much better. This time Erik's patience was waning thin, and he bit his tongue so as not to shout, but Christine could feel his frustration. She was just as frustrated, although over an entirely different reason. "You're not trying," he growled, playing the introduction to the song once again. "I know you can sing this, I've heard you sing it before, now show me the spirit of the woman I know!"

That did it. Christine belted out the notes as he played, matching the passion of his music, although it was not the same sort of passion. It angered her that he thought the lack of heart in which she sang had anything to do with a weakened spirit. She had more heart and spirit than he perhaps knew, and now she sang the words with great gusto, her voice soaring and flying over the notes. She was no longer singing Amita, she was Aminta, and she sang to him as Aminta sang to Don Juan.

"You have brought me  
to that moment where words run dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears into silence,  
silence…  
I have come here,  
hardly knowing the reason why…  
in my mind, I've already imagined  
our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent–"

She continued singing passionately, despite the fact that her cheeks glowed red. Also, at this point, her eyes were locked with his; no longer was he reading the music as he played, but he was gazing back at her, the way a panther gazed at its prey before attacking.

"And now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
decided…"

"Good!" Erik interrupted, his playing coming to a stop, awaking Christine from the trance of his eyes and the power of his music. "That was much better," he commended, "but I want that fire at every rehearsal! Why did you struggle so?"

Christine's eyes were focused on the ground, her arms wrapping around her body as if warming herself. "It doesn't…" she began, knowing his reaction and dreading it. "It doesn't feel…" she sighed, having difficulty with saying what was on her heart.

Erik frowned. "Doesn't feel? Doesn't feel what, Christine? Tell me, you promised you'd never hold any secrets from me during our rehearsals."

_He would say that, wouldn't he?_ Christine sighed and looked directly at him, preparing herself for the possible battle. "It doesn't feel right," she stated plainly. Erik's brow furrowed with confusion, but she continued before he could speak. "Singing this song and knowing the story behind it! Erik, have you not read the words that she is saying to Don Juan?"

Erik scowled at her. "Of course I know the words, I composed them!" he snapped, standing up from the piano and organizing the music before him.

Christine sighed and continued. "Erik, this is a love song! Yes, there are indeed dark elements to it, elements that are sensual and provocative, but…it is what it is…a love song that the two characters are singing to one another–"

"I know very well what it is!" he barked, taking his beloved music and moving it away from the piano as if he feared she would harm it in some way. "This is about the plot again, isn't it?" he groaned. "Good God, I thought we were past that now."

Christine frowned, not appreciating the patronizing tone his words carried. "It doesn't make sense Erik, why would Aminta do this? She loves Don Juan! That is made clear so many times before, and yet, for no apparent reason, she betrays him for another man?"

Erik slumped himself into a cushioned chair at the other end of his music chamber, his black cape billowing around him as he did so. "Need I remind you that Don Juan has been hideously scarred, and Aminta's new lover is a handsome rogue? I thought perhaps that would make it plain–"

"No it does not!" Christine shouted, stomping her foot with great indignation. "I know Marie and other women throw themselves constantly at handsome men, but Aminta is not that sort of woman! She loves him! She would not abandon him! I am not like that!"

Christine's hand flew to her mouth the second the words came out. Erik did not miss them; he was on his feet in an instant and staring at her from across the room. Yet before he could say anything, Christine turned on her heel and flew from the chamber, not daring to go to her own for fear that he would follow her, but flying to some private corner of the Phantom's realm where she could be alone. And of all places, she ran to the chamber where the costume cages were kept, seeking shelter inside, hiding amongst dusty dresses and forgotten gowns, praying that he had not followed, not sure if she could face him after her explosion. Silent tears dripped down her cheeks and she hid her face against a tattered garment that hung from above, the words echoing in her head the whole while.

She loved Erik with all her heart, but hearing his words hurt her deeply. Did he not think she or any woman was capable of loving a man such as himself? How could she help him understand that she would never betray his trust or his love, that she was his and his alone? She sighed, for it was true. He may not know it, but Christine was his, and perhaps, if he could return her love…he would be hers.

Erik never followed, and Christine stayed in her hiding place for several hours before retreating back to her chamber. She held her breath as she approached, unsure whether to find him there or not, a part of her hoping that he may be there, waiting…but he was not.

The next day dawned and Christine was dreading the rehearsal already. What would he say to her? What did he think? Should she tell him her true feelings? After all, she had kissed him, but then a horrible thought came to her. Did he think that her kiss was simply a kiss of pity? Or that she had kissed him only because it was Christmas? After all, she had referred to her kiss as a gift…

Christine grasped her mother's locket that she wore around her neck, taking a deep breath as she entered the Phantom's chamber.

"You're late," he stated simply as she entered, already sitting at the piano and playing several cords from the overture of his opera. He didn't even turn to look at her.

Christine inwardly groaned, realizing that this was going to be a hellish day. Yet she held her head high and approached the piano, prepared for whatever he threw at her.

"Point of No Return," he instructed, placing the score before him.

Christine's eyes widened. "A-a-again?" she gasped, thinking that of all the songs, that would be the last he'd want to hear her sing.

"Yes," he stated again. "Although this time, I will be singing with you."

Christine stared at him, her face going from pale to rosy and back to pale in a matter of seconds. "Y-y-y-you w-w-will be s-singing as well?"

Erik gave a wry grin. "Perhaps you only think I'm good at playing music?" he chuckled. "Not to flatter myself, but I do believe I can sing a good note or two. And besides, this song is a duet, and I want to hear how it sounds with two voices. I want to hear you sing back to another, I think that will help the essence of the song greatly."

Christine swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands gripping the piano slightly, biting her lip and wondering what all this would have in store. Erik's voice was already mesmerizing, but what would it be like when she heard him singing? And not only that…but him singing back to her, singing these seductive lyrics full of fire and passion. Like Aminta, she felt herself coming to a point of no return.

Erik began playing the introduction to the song, and then, without warning…

"You have come here  
in pursuit of your deepest urge,  
in pursuit of that wish,  
which till now has been silent,  
silent…"

Christine's breath had caught in her throat as she heard the Phantom's rich voice, singing both tenor and baritone with ease and skill, the words dripping off his tongue like honey…

"I have brought you,  
that our passions may fuse and merge–  
in your mind you've already succumbed to me,  
dropped all defenses,  
completely succumbed to me–"

His amber gaze, which looked like molten fire, was burning into her own as he sang.

"Now you are here with me–  
no second thoughts,  
you've decided,  
decided…"

She was under the spell of his eyes, his voice, his music. Christine felt her skin tingle, her blood boil, her heart speeding, and that strange wonderful sensation return between her legs.

"Past the point of no return–  
no backward glances:  
the games we've played till now are at an end…"

Erik could not look away, nor did he need to. He knew the music and lyrics by heart, but he was entranced by Christine, he sang as if he were Don Juan, singing to the beautiful Aminta, seducing her to come lay with him.

"Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'–  
no use resisting:  
abandon thought,  
and let the dream descend…

What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us…?"

Christine whimpered softly to his voice, the tenor in it singing of seduction, while the baritone promised pleasure.

"Past the point of no return,  
the final threshold–  
what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?  
Beyond the point of no return…"

Despite the trance his voice had over her, Christine began singing, as if it were second nature, responding to Don Juan's seductive questions.

"You have brought me  
to that moment where words run dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears into silence,  
silence…"

Her eyes were still locked with Erik's as she sang, and she was not sure if she was imagining it or not, but he seemed to be breathing even harder than before, the same way she had been breathing while he sang.

"I have come here,  
hardly knowing the reason why…  
in my mind, I've already imagined  
our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent–  
and now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
decided…"

She approached the piano, pressing her body against it and found herself leaning closer to him, leaning rather provocatively against the instrument, her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, burning into his.

"Past the point of no return–  
no going back now:  
the passion-play has, at last, begun…"

She leaned against the piano even more, her breasts now pressed against its surface, her face leaning closer towards his, licking her lips between notes.

"Past all thought of right or wrong–  
one final question:  
how long should we two wait, before we're one…?

When will the blood begin to race,  
the sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames at last, consume us…?"

Erik pushed himself away from the piano, rising so quickly that the bench toppled backward, but he did not take notice, nor did he care. He advanced upon Christine, singing with her the next part of the song, neither of them paying attention to anything else, the two completely lost with one another.

"Past the point of no return,  
the final threshold–  
the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn…"

Christine gasped as she felt Erik's arms encircle her, his hands pressed flat against her back, drawing her body fully against his own. Her own arms gripped his shoulders, and she moaned loudly as she felt his growing hardness throbbing against her, the tingling between her thighs growing more and more intense. One hand snaked into her hair, and he tangled his fingers in the silky strands, before cupping the nape of her neck. One of her arms went around his neck, clutching him close, drawing his face even closer to hers. His other arm carefully and tightly held her steady, and then he dipped her somewhat, causing her to lose all balance and completely surrender herself to him. Christine's other hand, which had been gripping his right shoulder, now carefully moved to his right cheek, touching the smooth surface of his mask. Could he feel her fingers beneath its surface? His breath caught briefly as he felt her hand go there, and she swore she heard him groan in pleasure as she caressed its surface.

"We've passed the point of no return…" they both softly sang, gazing into one another's eyes, clinging to each other, the music of their hearts echoing throughout the chamber as they were caught up in its spell. Time seemed to have stopped, and for a several agonizing seconds, the two did not move.

Christine held her breath as she gazed up at Erik, feeling his fingers tighten at the back of her neck, and her eyes were pleading, pleading for him to do what she wanted him to do, what he wanted to do, and her own fingers massaged the back of his neck, drawing it closer to her, her eyes fluttering closed, her lips moistening, awaiting, praying for the feel of his against her own.

Erik swore his heart had stopped. His breathing certainly had as he gazed back down at her, his eyes moving from hers to her inviting lips, the memory of her last kiss still fresh. What would it be like to taste her? He had had a tempting savoring of her mouth, but he wanted to taste it further, to feel her lips surrender against his, to open her mouth for him and allow his tongue to ravish hers. He had never kissed a woman before Christine, but any fear from lack of experience was gone; he wanted her, all of her, but for now, he would sate his appetite with the joy of her lips.

Christine whimpered a thankful sigh as Erik's mouth came crashing against hers. She moaned and easily surrendered her mouth to him, willingly opening herself for him, welcoming his tongue with her own. Erik's arms tightened even further around her body as his mouth ravished hers, tasting her sweet essence, tasting the beauty of heaven.

Christine clung to him as he kissed her even deeper, her own tongue boldly exploring his mouth, causing Erik to groan in pleasure as she kissed him back deeply, her fingers digging into the flesh around his neck, through his hair, running over the surface of his mask, caressing his unscarred cheek. He was in heaven, and he didn't want it to end.

Christine gasped as she felt her feet lift off the floor. Was this happening? Was this truly happening? The dark hero from her dreams, the man who haunted her more than any spirit ever could, was kissing her, holding her…oh God, was this how it felt to make love? Surely, this was different than mere coupling; this was passionate, pleasurable, and utter bliss. If he wanted her, she knew she could not stop him, nor did she want to. She wanted him so much, and she longed to feel his body against hers, to know what it was like to be made love to and to make love. She would surrender herself if he wished it, and in her heart she knew, there would be no regrets.

Erik had literally picked Christine up, one of his arms sliding down the back of her legs, scooping her up at the bend of her knees, and he was carrying her, carrying her past the organ, beyond the music chamber, and into the chamber where he slept, laying her down upon the plush Persian pillows that engulfed his bed. One hand was sliding along Christine's leg, and she whimpered against his mouth as she felt it slide upward along her thigh. Christine's hands were moving along his shoulders, inside his jacket, and she was quickly shoving the fabric aside, her fingers caressing the strong broad muscles she felt beneath the linen of his shirt.

She gasped and moaned as Erik's lips left hers and began ravishing her neck and throat, kissing, tasting, and softly biting the sweet flesh. Christine whimpers grew louder, and the delightful sensation that she felt between her thighs was spreading throughout her entire body like wild fire, and she felt herself grow hot and moist beneath her skirts. Erik's desire was even more apparent, for while it remained sheathed beneath his clothing, she could feel it straining for freedom against her body.

She gasped as she felt his hands move up to her shoulders and felt them tear at her dress, pulling it down from her shoulders, trying to free her breasts, and reveal more creamy skin for his hungry mouth. Christine's fingers found Erik's head and she brought it back to her mouth, needing to feel his lips again, needing to taste his tongue, wanting to feel his warmth envelope and take control of her body.

All too willing, Erik happily returned to Christine's sweet lips, kissing her deeply, desperately, moaning her name against them as she moaned his. Christine's fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him back, and one hand discovered the tie of his mask. She wanted his mask to be gone, so that she could kiss him properly, without feeling it brush and bump against her lips. She wanted to rain kisses all over him, and perhaps by doing that, perhaps by showing him that she loved him despite his scars, that to her, he was handsome and the man of her dreams, perhaps by at least touching him there…he would understand that she would never betray him, that he could trust her with his heart, that she truly loved him!

Christine continued kissing him, her passion growing, her heart racing, as her fingers quickly untied his mask. Yet before she could remove it from his face, Erik bolted upright, grasping it to him, and staring at her in horror.

"What game are you playing at?" he asked her harshly, quickly attempting to tie the mask back, but his fingers were fumbling as he did so.

Christine sat up, her hands moving to his, but he jumped away from her, backing away from the bed. "Why? What were you trying to do?" he ordered, turning his back to her quickly while he finished tying the mask in place.

It felt as if the all the warmth of the world had been sucked out, and Christine sat atop his bed, shivering as she stared at the man she loved who seemed to look at her with both wariness and revulsion. "Aminta…" he whispered, looking at the ground, quickly adjusting his shirt and jacket. "Of course…we were playing roles…"

"No!" Christine practically shouted, rising from the bed, and like Erik, adjusting her dress. "No, Erik, we were not playing anything…that was me you were kissing, not Aminta, and I was kissing you, not Don Juan…don't you see? It was us, not characters from an opera!"

But it was as though he could not hear her. Even though his mask was firm in its place, he still clutched it with one hand. "Why Christine?" he asked again, his eyes locking with hers as he continued to back away. Christine wanted to scream at him, to shout that she loved him, to tell him that with or without a mask, he as still the only man she had ever wanted, the only man she would allow to touch her as he did, to kiss her, to know her as a husband knows his wife.

"Erik, listen to me, please, I wasn't trying to play any tricks or games on you, I wanted you to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss you!"

He shook his head, and then grabbed her by the wrists, causing her to gasp as he hoisted her away from the bed and towards the door. "Erik! Let go! You're hurting me!" she cried, pulling her wrists from his grip and rubbing them.

"Get out," he practically spat. "Leave me! I see now that you simply wanted to play games of 'unmasking the monster', like those girls who were sent to my cage at the carnival, offering tempting kisses and then screaming in my face! It's the same way Aminta plays with Don Juan's emotions!"

Christine couldn't stand it any longer. "Damn it Erik! I am not Aminta! I–"

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME BE!" he shouted, before turning his back upon her and striding to his organ and banging his fingers hard upon its keys, causing a great gust of wind to come out from its pipes and practically blast Christine off her feet.

With hot tears flowing down her cheeks, Christine turned and fled from Erik's chamber, crying for her lost love, for that was exactly who he was. She thought she had been doing some good, but apparently, it did not matter. Any hope of winning Erik's heart was gone, for now he had no more trust within her. How could she explain to a man who had spent a great deal of his life in a cage, his disfigurement placed on display for money and mockery, that it was his face, both the masked and unmasked version, that haunted her dreams and filled her with desire?

It was the third day following Christmas, and all too soon, Christine realized that her wish had come to an end.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul begins to put the puzzle pieces together...and plots out a trap to capture the Phantom.

_**Plotting** _

The walls of Raoul's library were illuminated in a soft orange glow, the same glow that poured over him as he gazed into the fireplace at the small but blazing fire. He grunted softly as he stared into the flames, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but finding it extremely difficult while other thoughts from Christmas night invaded his mind.

Christmas had been two days ago, but the news that François had delivered him had been most perplexing and disturbing.

He grunted again, closing his eyes and trying one last time to concentrate but exhaled a frustrated groan, knowing it was no use.

"Get up!" he barked, and a red head popped up from between his legs.

The chambermaid pouted softly, knowing that she had not been able to please her master entirely. "But monsieur, I haven't-"

"Get up and leave at once!" he growled, avoiding the girl's eyes and doing up his own trousers, tucking himself back in, feeling utterly frustrated from both his thoughts and lack of relief.

The maid pouted once again, but rose to her feet, righting her dress and did a small curtsy, before quickly exiting the library.

Raoul paid the maid no heed, after all, she was just a servant and maids were only good for one thing as far as he was concerned. He continued to stare into the fire, allowing himself to fully concentrate on the news François had delivered two nights ago.

It was almost 11 o'clock on Christmas night, and Raoul was impatiently awaiting word from the private investigator. Finally, the butler entered the library announcing François' arrival, and the smaller man entered, wiping snow off his coat, his face extremely red. He was panting and collapsed in the nearest arm chair, wheezing for the butler to bring him a brandy, even though Raoul as host made no such offer. Raoul chose to ignore this, and focused entirely on the man before him.

"Good God man, what the devil happened to you?" he asked, sipping his own brandy and leaning back in his chair.

François wheezed a little more, then finally muttered, "Couldn't…get…a cab…had to…run…" the brandy arrived then and François took a hearty drink. "Thank you," he muttered.

Raoul lit a cigar, hoping the smoke would help calm him. While François had made his deadline, Raoul was most impatient for any news. "Well?" he demanded after taking one long puff. "What news do you have?"

François mopped the sweat from his brow and took another long swig of his brandy before finally retelling his discoveries.

"As you had advised, I played the part of someone seeking out information on the Phantom," François began. "And I began my inquiries with people who I felt would see a great deal of what goes on back stage, but who few would regard with any importance," François said proudly.

Raoul held back his groan of frustration. "Stagehands?"

François beamed. "Exactly monsieur! Yes, I felt it best to speak to them, as I feared the ballet girls may tell Madame Giry of my presence and we would not want that, would we?"

Raoul made no response, just glared at the man to continue.

"Yes, well," François quickly went on, "I saw several burly looking fellows smoking cigarettes near the orchestra pit, and felt it best to approach them. I must say, monsieur, it amazes me that such places of grandness and refinement would hire such rude, grotesque–"

"Get on with it!"

François practically fell out of his chair from Raoul's bark of impatience. "Forgive me, monsieur, I digress," he apologized. "Yes, well, I approached these men and introduced myself as one who was investigating the whereabouts of the so-called 'Phantom of the Opera'."

Raoul choked on the smoke he was inhaling from his cigar and pounded his fist against his chest as he stared at the other man with wild eyes. "You…you what?" he coughed. "You idiot! I told you to only say that if anyone inquired as to why you were asking questions! Not as an introduction!"

Raoul rose from his chair and stalked over to the other side of the room, feeling that if he did not get far enough away from François he'd cause the man great pain…and think nothing of it. Even François was shrinking back in his chair. "F-f-forgive monsieur! I…I d-d-do not think t-t-that you are in danger of…of being discovered h-however–"

Raoul cursed and threw what was left of his cigar into the fire. "Now the maniac who is playing these jokes on me will know about the investigation I'm conducting and gain even more glee at my frustration!"

François shrank even more, but lifted his voice with news that he hoped would please his employer, "I did learn more about the girl, however."

Raoul froze, his eyes both large and wild as he gazed at François. "Continue…"

Pleased that the Vicomte didn't want to kill him anymore, at least not at the moment, François quickly continued. "The stagehands I spoke with laughed at my introduction, telling me that the Phantom was no man I could catch, even if I wished it. They all claimed to have seen him, that he lurks in the shadows behind the stage, that he haunts the many catwalks high above, that he knows everything that goes on and that he runs this theater–"

Raoul growled at those words. "Get on with it," he snarled.

François swallowed his nervousness. "T-they all seemed quite sure that this Phantom is not a prankster, that he truly exists…and I scoffed at them, saying it could be anyone; the letters could be written by any number of people wanting to make demands, but they became quite insistent that the Phantom exists! They then told me about people who…who did not follow the Phantom's wishes, who did not obey his orders, and who met the wrath of the Opera Ghost," François paused briefly, grateful to see that the Vicomte did not look homicidal, but, rather intrigued.

"They told me of men who had disappeared, who went below the stage, down far below the Opera House, where once upon a time the theater kept its props and supplies, but now were lost to the Opera Ghost. They said that's his domain…and those that have gone down there, were never heard or seen again," François shivered at the memory of the men's words, still recalling how chilling the tale was. "And I laughed, trying to show my doubt to their words, and asked them who was the last person to have disappeared…and then they all exchanged glances with one another before saying the name of…Daae."

Raoul stared at François, bewilderment slowly settling in. The old man had raved like a lunatic about the Phantom…was it possible? "You mentioned you had news on Christine?"

"Oh yes monsieur! In fact, one of the stagehands interrupted the others who said Daae's name, claiming that it was in fact the costume girl who was last seen disappearing below stage. You see, on the night of the opening gala, one of the stagehands was meant to go below stage to fetch a prop, but they all claimed to know better, that below stage was strictly off limits! However Daae overheard the men arguing, and claimed he would go below to fetch the prop himself. Needless to say, the man never returned."

"Needless," Raoul muttered. "And?"

"Well…after it became apparent that he had been missing, his daughter became extremely agitated, wanting to form a search party to find him, but Carlotta said something that offended the young woman, and…well…punched the star soprano directly in the eye," François bit his lip recalling how the stagehands burst out laughing at this story. "As you can imagine, the girl was fired on the spot! However, instead of returning home as she was advised, she approached these men and demanded to know if they had seen her father. They informed her he had gone missing after descending below stage, but without word or thought, she too descended…and…hasn't been heard or seen since."

Raoul sat there; trying to absorb everything he had just been told. "And the woman who owned the apartment they occupied…hasn't seen either of them since that day?"

François nodded his head. "Which…only brings me to this conclusion monsieur…either the two of them have truly disappeared from society…or…" he wasn't sure he wanted to tell the Vicomte that he was beginning to believe the stories of the infamous Phantom. "They say that the Phantom dresses in black, and that he wears a mask to hide his horrible face!"

These words soaked over Raoul, and he recalled how Daae had briefly, in his madness, described the Phantom to him, as a horrible grotesque figure with a misshapen face and a demon's soul. But it could not be possible? Could it?

"You've done well, François," Raoul murmured, staring into the flames before him. "I do not believe I will be needing your services further…I shall have my valet fetch you a carriage and pay you what I owe."

François beamed at Raoul's words; however he did not think he had truly solved the mystery. "Thank you, monsieur, but…if I may ask, where will you go from here in your search for the missing girl? I mean…it is extremely hard to believe that she has been kidnapped by the mysterious Phantom…is it not?"

Raoul said nothing, simply continued to stare into the fire…as he was doing now, two nights since the conversation he had had with François. For the past two days that followed the Christmas conversation, Raoul had been deep in thought of what next to do about the case of the missing costume girl. He couldn't simply storm his way down below the stage, and he wasn't entirely convinced that this whole "Phantom" nonsense was more than a prank. But something needed to happen, after all, how much longer was the Marquis Clamont going to live? He had to find Christine if he was going to get his hands on that fortune!

And then an idea struck him. "HENRY!" he shouted, rising from his chair and striding to fetch his coat which had been thrown over another chair. The butler appeared, looking extremely tired as it was nearly midnight. "Have my carriage prepared, I leave at once."

Henry, the butler, looked extremely confused. "But monsieur…where are you going at this hour?"

Raoul grinned to himself. "To see an old…'friend', so to speak." 

* * *

 

 

The night was cold, the coldest yet, but Erik knew it was just going to get colder. He went about his work, lighting the fire, stoking the dying embers, and adding more wood now and then. He continued to do this until he was satisfied that the fire would last the rest of the night, yet it normally took several hours to reach this level of satisfaction.

Erik sighed, a part of him not knowing why he still did this, yet deep down, he knew…he was just afraid to admit it.

He gazed at the orange flames that danced in the small fireplace, feeling their warmth wrap around him, and he remembered a similar fire that not so long ago roared through his veins…a fire that still remained, yet he feared the burning that he knew would utterly consume him from such a blaze.

He turned his eyes for a moment, allowed them to linger, and then added one last log before turning and leaving the chamber.

"So this is where you've been late at night."

Erik met Jacque's eyes, but said nothing. Instead, he walked right past the hook-handed man, away from the entrance to Christine's chamber, and began heading back to his own chamber to lock himself away with his music.

"Master–"

"What?" Erik turned and growled at the other man.

Jacque swallowed the lump in his throat, his courage fleeting with the cold night wind that rushed through the tunnels. "I…I s-s-simply w-w-wanted to r-report to you t-that we still have found no trace of…of the girl's father," he whispered.

Erik felt the tenseness in his muscles slowly melt away, but his jaw remained hard and set. Ever since that Christmas night when Christine came to the roof, he had given orders for the others to learn of Daae's whereabouts. It was the least he could do, even if things between the two of them were…more muddled than ever before.

"Keep searching," Erik growled, before turning on his heel to leave.

However, Jacque stopped him with a question. "Forgive me, Master, but…why are we doing this?"

Erik paused, the tenseness slowly returning. Jacque swallowed another growing lump, but continued. "Why now? I…forgive me, Master, but…it is no secret to the…to the rest of us that…that you two are not speaking…a-a-and why now…why are you still concerned with…with finding her father? And…and I must confess Master, I…I am surprised…" Jacque motioned toward Christine's chamber. How long had Erik been visiting the sleeping girl to keep the fire in her fireplace from going out? Why did he still do these things when it seemed so obvious to him that…that the two of them despised one another?

Erik kept his back to Jacque. He too had been questioning his motives and reasons, but the answer to them he was not yet prepared to give…at least not out loud. "You do these things Jacque," Erik began, slowly turning his head and catching the hook-handed man's gaze with his amber eyes that looked like liquid fire, "because I tell you to."

With that, Erik disappeared into the shadows, leaving a trembling Jacque behind in the darkness. Whether Erik was going to admit it or not, it was obvious to Jacque that the Master had a secret, one he was not prepared to say…but one that was becoming more and more apparent in his eyes.

* * *

 

"Daae!"

The old man's eyes slowly fluttered open. He groaned as he shifted on the uncomfortable prison cot, bending his head to see the officer standing just outside his cell. "Look alive man!" the officer barked. "You have a visitor."

Daae's brow furrowed at these words. Visitor? For as long as he had been in this jail, no one had stepped foot to see him, mainly because no one, sadly, knew of his whereabouts. Once upon a time he hoped beyond anything that Christine would somehow escape the Phantom's clutches; that she would find him, and together they would leave this city that had become a nightmare. He dreamt of perhaps traveling back to Sweden, the two of them, and starting a new life there. But his dreams died with every passing day, and with the change of the seasons, so too did his hope change to despair.

Yet now, with the announcement of a visitor, Daae suddenly felt his hopes rise again, and he quickly rose from the cot as fast as his old weary limbs would allow. Yet the hopeful smile on his face quickly died as the last person he ever expected to see approached the cell.

"Ah, Monsieur!" greeted the Vicomte de Chagny. "At last, we meet again."

Daae sank back down onto the cot, yet a scowl now replaced his look of sadness. "You…" he hissed. "What are you doing here?" he demanded through a harsh cough, clutching the thin blanket around his boney shoulders.

Raoul sighed and quietly kneeled down so he was at the same eye level as the old man. "I come asking for your forgiveness, actually."

Daae stared at the man with a dumbfounded expression. "F-f-forgiveness?" he practically choked.

Raoul nodded his head. "Yes…for being a fool and not realizing that it was you who had come into my club that night so many months ago," he sighed, running a hand through his dark blonde hair. "Had I but known…had I not been so damn drunk…" he cursed himself under his breath and hung his head in shame. Daae stared at the man with eyes as wide as saucers, realization slowly coming over him.

"You…you remember me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You…you know who I am then?"

Raoul lifted his head and gave a sad smile. "I do, Monsieur Daae, I do. But that night…" he cursed himself again. "Forgive me, I was drunk and had no wits about me, for if I had, I would have recognized you at once. But…sadly, I mistook you for a beggar, thought you were a raving drunken lunatic…" he hung his head again. "I have been away from Paris for several months, and arrived just this past week. When I went to the Opera House to speak with the mangers, it was then that I learned of your absence, and I made the horrid realization. Oh forgive me, monsieur, if you can. I am to blame for your misfortunes, it is I who has locked you in this place."

Daae felt his heart move with pity at the sincerity of the man who knelt before him. "Oh monsieur…" he whispered. "I…I should have known…I was covered with mud, it would have been hard to recognize me and think otherwise."

Raoul shook his head. "No, I will not accept any sort of excuses, I was the one who caused you this pain; because of me, you had no other choice than to go to the police, and this is what has happened," he cursed. "Oh monsieur, if you can find it in your heart, although I do not deserve it, please…please forgive me, this is all my doing."

Daae shook his head, reaching out with a boney hand and touching Raoul's sleeve, which was gripping one of the cell's bars. "No monsieur…this has nothing to do with you…it is that cursed Phantom that has done this."

Raoul slowly lifted his eyes to meet Daae's. "Truly?" he whispered, his green eyes coming alive with a strange glow. "I remember…I remember you saying something about your daughter…that…that she was a prisoner of the Phantom?"

Daae nodded his head most passionately. "Yes! Oh that horrid beast! He has her, he took her from me! Oh monsieur," Daae felt hot tears roll down his cheeks, and he turned his head away, sobbing into his boney hands, coughing now and then.

Raoul removed his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Daae, who thanked him whole heartily. "Please…tell me more about this Phantom," Raoul whispered.

Daae shuddered at the memory. "He's a demon, monsieur," he whispered. "A monster to be sure. Tall, like a giant…covered in black from head to toe…but…oh God above," he crossed himself, "his face…that face still haunts my memory…" he wrapped the blanket tightly around him, yet his shivering only intensified. "He wears a mask, monsieur…a mask to cover his God forsaken face!"

Raoul was practically leaning against the cell bars. "Can you describe this face to me?"

Daae trembled and shook his head most violently. "I…I dare not even think…" he began to cough most heavily, and pounded a boney fist against his chest to calm himself. "Please monsieur…it…it is only half a face…that is all I can say…one side of his face looks like that of any other man…but the other…oh the horror of it is indescribable."

Raoul leaned back, breathing in deeply everything he had just learned. "And you say he has your daughter?"

"YES! Oh monsieur…I…I did not believe in such stories, so to prove myself, I chose to go below and fetch the prop that the stagehands had been ordered to retrieve, but…I was trapped and…and he found me," he shuddered deeply. "Christine…oh bless her, she…she came after me…" Raoul remembered everything François had told him, about the stagehands who swore that Christine had gone down below the stage, the same way Daae had disappeared, and yet had not been seen nor heard from since. "Christine found me, yet sadly, the Phantom found her…but she made a bargain with Satan himself! She offered her life in place of mine…oh monsieur…what horrors may have befallen upon her? My poor daughter…my poor sweet child…" he sobbed again, his whole body shaking with his tears.

Raoul rose to his feet and found himself pacing, both Daae's news and that of François' washing over him. "And she is still there? With this Phantom?"

Daae nodded his head. "I…I can only assume…although who knows if she is even alive! Oh monsieur, she is all I have left in this world! I…I do not know what I will do if she is…if…if she is…" he began to sob again, but Raoul banged his fist against the cell's bars.

"Get a hold of yourself man!" he practically roared. "If we are to help your daughter, we need all our wits about!"

Daae looked up at Raoul, a smile slowly spreading across his old grizzled face. "You…you will help me, monsieur?"

"Yes," Raoul whispered, lowering himself again, "but we must keep this a secret between ourselves…I do not want any of the officers here learning of what we have been discussing for fear that they may lock you away in an asylum!"

Daae trembled at this, knowing that asylums were far worse than French prisons. "I understand," he whispered.

"Good," Raoul said. "Now, I need to know this for a fact…is this 'Phantom'…an actual living, breathing…man?"

"He's a demon if you ask me…" Daae hissed. "But…he is flesh, if that is what you mean, monsieur…he is no specter, despite the stories the ballet tell."

Raoul was pleased at these words. "And…how did you come upon his lair?"

Daae trembled. "There is a trap door back stage…a door that leads directly below…but I do not advise that you go down there, monsieur, there are traps everywhere, and…and he has an army!"

Raoul raised an eyebrow at this. "Army?"

"Well…there are others…they all wore shrouds when I came upon them, but they work for him, minions you see."

Raoul nodded his head, although he found this piece of news rather hard to swallow. "Well I think you're right, this is not something one wants to be rash about…this will take careful planning, but fear not, monsieur, I am quite determined to find your daughter, bring her to safety, and reunite the two of you once again."

Daae felt his face break into a wide smile, his eyes tearing up again, only this time out of joy. "Oh bless you, monsieur! Thank you! Thank you! I knew you were a good man, I knew deep in my bones, and now Christine will see that she was wrong and that you truly are a knight in shining–"

"What?" Raoul stared at Daae with wild eyes. "W-w-what do you mean…Christine will see she is wrong…?"

Daae bit his lip, looking down at the cell floor. "Forgive me, monsieur…I did not mean to offend…only…you see, Christine, I'm afraid, is sometimes too…realistic I suppose, for her own good. Her mother was a lady of wealth, and she married me, a poor musician. It is not hard for me to believe a person of great wealth falling in love with…well, with someone society would say is 'below them', but…Christine has a harder time believing in the possibility, sadly."

Raoul's hands were clenched into tight fists, so tight that the knuckles were painfully cracking. "Well…let us hope that I too can…prove her wrong," he said through clipped lips, but with a genuine smile.

Daae did not notice the clipped tone and smiled back. "Oh monsieur, how can I thank you? I know that with your influence, you can summon an army of heaven's angels to do battle with that horrific Phantom and save my daughter. Oh bless you, monsieur…bless you," Daae reached out and grasped one of Raoul's clenched fists and kissed it.

Raoul's first reaction was to shake the man off him, but he caught himself in time and allowed Daae to show his gratitude before removing his hand. "Once I have found Christine, I will then be able to convince these imbeciles that you are not a mad man, and have you released at once."

Daae smiled even more. "Oh thank you, monsieur, but all that matters is the safety of my daughter. But thank you, monsieur, oh thank you so much."

Raoul nodded his head, before turning and leaving the cell block. Outside, he was greeted by Chief Inspector LeDou, the man he was paying to keep Daae locked behind bars. "Well?" the inspector asked. "You wish for me to release him?"

Raoul scoffed at the man. "Are you mad? The man is clearly insane! But I was able to retrieve the information I desperately needed," he said with a wry grin. "I think it will only be for a few more days that you'll have the…delight, shall we say, of Monsieur Daae's company."

LeDou nodded his head. "And then?"

"Well, that depends," Raoul sighed. "If all goes according to plan, I shall remove Daae off your hands myself…but if not…I'll gladly pay the fare for the coach that has to drive him to the asylum."

* * *

Andre yawned very loudly as both he and Firmin sat in their office, awaiting the arrival of the Vicomte de Chagny, whose message they had both received in the middle of the night, stressed great urgency for the two of them to be at the Opera House extremely early for important matters of business.

"I do not know if any business is this urgent," Andre muttered, yawning again. Firmin heartily agreed with his business partner, but said nothing.

"Ah! Good morning gentlemen," Raoul greeted rather cheerfully, entering the managers' office and offering each of them cigars. "I do feel today is a day of celebration," he explained with a wide grin.

The two managers stared at the Vicomte in stunned silence. Never had either of them seen the man looking so…happy. Only when discussions were about money did he look anywhere close to being this happy.

"G-g-good morning, monsieur," Andre said rather nervously, looking at Firmin for explanation on how to handle Raoul's new and strange mood.

"I trust all is well monsieur?" Firmin asked, smiling and thankfully accepting the cigar, although he too was just as puzzled.

"Oh very well, thank you," Raoul chuckled, lighting his own cigar before lighting those that he handed out. He then took Firmin's desk chair, seating himself and inhaling deeply before releasing a large cloud of smoke. "Well, I shall not delay your questioning glances further," he sighed, taking one last long puff on his cigar before focusing on the two confused managers.

"I called for this special meeting because I wish to have things started at once, after all, New Years Eve is only…good heavens, two days away, and that's counting today."

Firmin and Andre exchanged looks. "I…I beg your pardon monsieur?" Firmin inquired. "What…what exactly are you wishing we 'start'?"

Raoul's smile spread even further. "Why…planning the ball of course."

"BALL?" both managers shouted together, rising to their feet and coughing on the smoke from their cigars.

Raoul grinned and inhaled deeply. "Yes, a ball given in honor of the whole company; the singers, dancers, musicians, even those that work behind the curtain…I want them all there," he exhaled a long stream of smoke into the direction of the managers. "I suggest you get right on it, especially since I already had the invitations issued this morning."

"I-i-i-invitations?" Andre gasped, pounding his fist against his chest from the smoke he was choking on. "F-f-for the company?"

"Of course not!" Raoul scoffed. "I expect you to inform the company…the invitations are for the elite of Parisian society."

"P-p-p-parisian s-s-society?" Andre practically spat.

Firmin pushed the younger manager away, looking at the Vicomte straight in the eye. "Am I to understand, monsieur…that you have sent out invitations to…to half of our most prominent patrons–"

"All of them, actually," Raoul sighed. "You have no idea how much fine paper costs, especially when you're paying by the letter."

Firmin forced himself to remain calm. "You have practically invited all of Paris to come here, on New Years Eve, for…for a ball?"

Raoul smiled and nodded his head like a little boy who had been told he had done something very good. "Yes, and not just any ball, a masked ball, so I'm counting on you to inform the company of that as well."

Both Firmin and Andre were looking at each other as if they should call the asylum to inform them that the Vicomte de Chagny had completely lost his mind. "This was…this was the urgent news?" Firmin slowly asked.

Raoul exhaled another large cloud of smoke. "Of course it is! What could be more important than that?"

Andre was pacing back and forth, his hands in his hair. "I…I just thought…monsieur, you know we are in great financial debt, what with the last few…performances," he hissed. "How on earth are we going to afford–"

Raoul waved his hand. "Do not worry about expense, I shall handle all finances; but I'm counting on you to organize everything by New Year's Eve! And the party begins promptly at 8 o'clock, so have the doors open then."

Andre couldn't hold it back any further. "BUT WHAT OF THE PHANTOM?"

Raoul, who at that moment had been rising from Firmin's chair, stopped and stared at the younger manager who looked ready to pull out his own hair. "What of him?" he responded coolly.

Firmin was rubbing his temples as his partner wailed on. "Pardon me, monsieur…but…am I not correct in recalling that we needed to discover the whereabouts of this prankster, this stagehand who is attempting to send us into financial ruin?"

Raoul could only grin. "Do you still have a copy of that score?"

Firmin lifted his head. "Yes…b-b-but why? It's utter rubbish, as you said so yourself–"

"Well, I think you should hold onto it…at least just for a little bit longer," Raoul explained. "You see…I was sure that the invitations announced that not only was this ball in honor of the whole company…but also, at the ringing in of the new year, an announcement will be made on the new 'project' that the Paris Opera House is preparing for later this season."

The jaws of the two men dropped as they stared at their greatest of all patrons. And then, slowly, realization dawned on them both.

"This is…this is all a ploy…a plot to…to drag this so-called 'Phantom' into the light," Firmin whispered. "This is all deliberate so that he…or she…will reveal themselves–"

"And thus ending our dilemma! OH IT'S BRILLIANT!" Andre exclaimed.

Raoul looked rather smug. "Yes it is, I must say," he sighed, taking one last long puff on his cigar before stuffing it out. "So you best get to work." No need to tell either of them about his encounter with the old man, Raoul thought. This was the perfect trap, using the Phantom's score as bait to lure him out into the open, and finally put an end to this ghost story. All that mattered was the simple fact that the Phantom was flesh, and whether the infamous Opera Ghost turned out to be a stage hand playing a great prank…or a freak of nature that the old man claimed to exist, he would have his answer by the new year.

And with the answer of who really is the Phantom of the Opera, he hoped to discover the truth and whereabouts of the just as elusive Christine Daae. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik receives an invitation to a most unusual gathering. Will Christine stop him before he falls prey to the Vicomte's trap?

_**Surprise!** _

She looked like an angel, standing in the snow that fell through the lagoon ceiling, the flakes swirling around her body, her hair blowing softly in its breeze.

But the warmth she once radiated seemed dead; despite her angelic beauty, she looked like a statue, a cold stone object that had no warmth, no life.

Once upon a time, she danced with the snow, her arms outstretched as she twirled like a child at play, laughing as the little black kitten named Carman leapt to catch snowflakes.

Now, she stood in silence, her arms wrapped around her body, the kitten mewing at her feet, but she showed no sign that she was listening. She just stared…at some unseen abyss.

He was a safe distance away, hidden by the shadows that had long been his friend, glad that she could not see him, yet feeling deep regret as well.

His efforts for avoiding her since…the incident…was proving to be very hard. They had not spoken to each other since; there had been no lessons, no form of communication whatsoever. The distance they had made between one another was like a canyon, which was just fine with Erik.

Or so he tried to tell himself.

But old habits die hard. Erik couldn't stay away as the nights grew colder. Ever since that first snowfall, while Christine slept, he would go and tend to her fire, making sure that she would not freeze. Some nights were simple and quick, in a matter of minutes he would have her dying fire roaring with life again. Other nights, he may be there for what felt like hours, yet he didn't mind. She was so beautiful, the way her hair fell across her pillow like a brown pool, the way her skin looked in the dying firelight, the way her body softly rose and fell with each sleeping breath. Erik was torn with burning desire to feel himself buried in her softness, and the heart-wrenching longing to feel her arms around him. He had never felt such passion, such desire, such…such yearning for another.

Yes, this was far more than lust, and it was far deeper than attraction or friendship.

Not since the first night he had seen her bathing, Erik had returned to the lagoon for fear of coming upon her again in such a state. Once he would not care about such things, but he valued her too much, he respected her too much to ever leer and ogle.

However, since the winter days and nights had crept in, he knew that the chance of her bathing were extremely slim. And he remembered how the day after Christmas he had come upon her playing in the snow with the kitten, dancing and twirling with joy, reminding him once again that truly, she was an angel, a beauty that had fallen from heaven to the depths of his hell. He had not the heart to make his presence known; he simply hid in the shadows and watched her with ever-growing longing.

But her joy was gone now. She no longer played, she no longer danced. In a matter of days, she had grown so much older and for the first time, he noticed the ill effects his world was having on her. She was not overtly thin, but she did look so much frailer than before. And she had grown distinctly pale; her skin once had a creamy glow about it, and there was a rose to her cheek…yet now she looked like a small pale china doll. And there were dark circles forming under her eyes, and her cheeks looked swollen and puffy…

And yet, despite these unpleasant changes to her appearance and personality, she still radiated beauty. And as he had thought when he first saw her dancing in the snow, he still knew that no matter what, he would always be what he was…a monster.

And it was hopeless to even believe for a second she would ever see him as anything else.

"Master?"

The soft voice interrupted Erik's thoughts, and without a word he turned and walked passed Jacque, heading to his chamber where Christine would not be aware that he had been near.

Jacque quickly followed, and once they had reached the chamber and Erik had seated himself at his organ, Jacque quickly delivered his message. "I beg your pardon Master, but I felt this was urgent."

Erik was already playing, a song that had been in his head for several nights now. It had no words, and he had not begun to write it, but the melody had been haunting him like a dream. "What is it?" he simply asked, not lifting his eyes from the keys he so expertly played.

Jacque took a deep breath and held out the note with his good hand. Erik was actually surprised by the token; normally it was he, who delivered the messages here. Without another word, he stopped his playing and took the note, breaking its seal and began reading the elegant handwriting.

Jacque watched as Erik's eyes went wide, and then narrowed to tiny slits of fire. Every muscle in the Phantom's body tensed, and his hands gripped the note as if he depended upon it to breathe. "Who gave this to you?" Erik barked, his gaze only briefly leaving the note.

Jacque swallowed the lump in his throat. "It was found…" he quickly continued as he saw Erik's jaw twitch with impatience. "I was in the northern caverns, checking our traps, and…I heard a noise…near the trap door behind the stage, and…" he took a deep breath, "I saw, through one of our spy holes, the Vicomte de Chagny leaving it on the floor." There, he had said it…now he simply had to wait for Erik to explode.

But the Phantom made no such noise or gesture. He simply stared at Jacque, and then moved his eyes down to the note. He glanced once more at Jacque, then once more at the note…and then erupted with violent laughter. "The…the c-c-clever b-b-bastard!" Erik laughed. This reaction startled Jacque greatly, and it was not merry laughter, but cold, dark, and calculating. It was the laughter of a mad man.

"Master?"

Erik stopped his laughter, but continued to smile most maliciously. "He's calling me out," Erik whispered. "It's his way of challenging me, but little does he know what he's truly getting himself into."

Jacque was extremely curious to know what the note said. It didn't matter if he had opened it or not before giving it to his master, he couldn't read anyway. But whatever it said, Erik's reaction was one of triumph and evil glee, despite the fact that the Vicomte had, as Erik said, "called him out."

"If the Vicomte wrote that…and deliberately left it here for…for one of us to find…" Jacque needn't say any more, nor did he wish to dwell on it further. The Vicomte knew of their existence, he now believed the ghost stories to be true, but instead of reacting with fear as everyone else had, he was challenging the Opera Ghost. "Master, what are we to do?" Jacque asked with desperation in his voice. Horrible images of the carnival crept back into his memory.

Erik crumpled the note and threw it over his shoulder. "Nothing," Erik said casually. "However, I have an appointment with Monsieur Raoul, as well as with all of Paris that I must prepare myself for…excuse me," and with that said, Erik, still chuckling, fled the chamber, disappearing once more into the shadows that enveloped him so well in mystery. 

* * *

 

Rudolph grinned as he dangled a piece of string in front of Carman, laughing as she batted it back before giving a most indignant meow. "She's g-g-getting f-f-frustrated, which makes her j-j-j-jump a-a-all the more h-higher."

"Well you would be too if someone were dangling something you wanted in front of you," Suzette scolded, although it was in a playful tone. She was sitting in the corner of the main chamber where she and the others slept, sewing some patches onto an old pair of trousers. She glanced over at the young woman seated next to her, the smile on her face quickly disappearing.

Christine was working just as diligently on a shirt that belonged to Gustave, but there was no sign of life in her at all. She made no sound, she showed no emotion, she simply went about her task. And it was extremely unlike her.

"My dear," Suzette whispered, her hand reaching out and resting atop Christine's. "I do not think work will make things better, no matter how hard you throw yourself into it."

Christine, for the first time showed some sign of life, her eyes lifting to the old woman's. "What makes you think–"

"I see it every day with the Master, and yet I know that despite his best efforts to immerse himself in his art, I know that he is still yearning…still aching."

Christine looked deeply into the other woman's eyes. "Y-y-yearning?" she whispered. "Yearning for what?"

Suzette couldn't help but smile and softly squeezed Christine's hand. "I think you know, my dear."

Christine suddenly flew to her feet, her hands moving to cover her face, and she began pacing back and forth most passionately, groaning with great frustration, her body on the brink of breaking down and sobbing till she could no longer move out of exhaustion. "I don't know what to do!" she cried, throwing her hands up in the air, letting her frustrated tears spill forth. "I…I thought…I thought that maybe, if…if I just…if I showed him that…that I don't care about his face, that I…that I'm not like those women, that…that I'm different, that…that I…that I…"

"That you love him?" Suzette whispered.

Christine stopped and stared down at the smaller woman whose wisdom caused her to tower over everything else. "You know?"

Suzette chuckled and grinned at Rudolph who was grinning back. "We've all known my dear…please don't take offense when I say…it has been rather obvious."

Christine collapsed in a heap on the hard cavern floor, her hands cradling her weary head. "Obvious to everyone but the one person my feelings are for," she murmured, before leaning her head into Suzette's lap, her small hands running through Christine's tangled curls.

"Have you told him how you feel?"

Christine held back a sarcastic laugh. "I do not think he would listen, let alone believe me…he would think I was simply playing a part, that it's impossible for anyone to love him." She lifted her tear stained face to Suzette's. "But I do! I do love him, but…I'm so scared…"

Suzette sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from Christine's cheek. "In all my years of living here with the Master, I've never known him to feel so content, and I've never seen him so happy, until you came into his life and ours," her tiny fingers cupped Christine's chin, her eyes locking with the girl's. "Tell him…he respects you, he listens to you better than anyone else, tell him your feelings, tell him that you don't care about his face, but tell him! Until you do tell him, he'll never believe it possible for love to come into his life. Until you tell him Christine, you'll never know if he returns your feelings," she sighed again, her hands moving to Christine's shoulders and slowly pushing the girl away, encouraging her to stand. "I know it's frightening, the uncertainty of it all. But only you can do this," she emphasized. "The Master feels love is a weakness…but you need to show him that it is indeed strength."

Rudolph grinned and clapped his hands. "C-c-christine w-w-will make the Master happy j-j-just like the gypsy girl makes t-t-the h-hunchback!"

Suzette smiled at Rudolph, although Christine saw the guilt in the old woman's eyes for the white lie she once told Rudolph about his favorite story. Yet Rudolph's words hit her; why couldn't Quasimodo have a happy ending with the gypsy Esmeralda? Why did the beauty have to run away, why couldn't the "beast" find love? No…she was not going to join that long list of tragic characters. She was not going to let anything dictate who she could and could not love. "You're right Rudolph," Christine said with new determination. "I will make him happy, and I must tell him…at once!" She turned to leave, to march to Erik's chamber and tell him everything, barring herself at the entrance so he could not turn her away. She would make him listen, she would show him that when they had kissed, it was because she, Christine Daae, wanted to kiss him, that she loved, desired, and wanted him. And she would kiss him again to prove it, she would never stop kissing him, even if he tried to push her away, she was most determined. She was going to win his heart and prove to him that he was indeed worthy of love.

Yet before Christine could leave, Jacque came bursting in, gasping with breath, Gustave at his side, holding a crumpled piece of parchment in his massive hands. Suzette could tell that something was wrong and quickly rose from her chair. "What has happened?" she asked, her eyes going from Jacque to Gustave and back.

Gustave looked just as grim as Jacque. "A letter had been delivered," he quickly explained. "Jacque came across it and brought it to the Master," he glanced down at the letter, dread filling his spirit as he once again read the words. "It appears that on New Year's Eve, there is to be a ball…a masked ball, held here, at the Paris Opera House, in honor of the whole company, and half of Paris has been invited."

"New Year's Eve…" Suzette whispered before realization struck. "Good heavens! That's tonight!"

Christine was also feeling Suzette's discomfort. "So…so naturally Erik is upset…because this means something is going on without his permission, yes?" She hoped that was the answer, but the dreadful feeling that was growing in the pit of her stomach told her otherwise.

"If only," Jacque muttered. "Turns out, according to what Gustave has told me, at midnight, an announcement will be made about a particular 'project' that the Opera House will be taking on, before the end of the opera season."

Christine knew at once what this meant. She also knew Erik's reaction. "W-w-where is Erik?" she asked, her voice growing soft and shaky.

Jacque glanced at Gustave, and then sighed. "The Master disappeared after reading the letter…I…I believe he has gone ahead…"

"Lord have mercy," Suzette whispered, before quickly crossing herself. Christine held her hands out, to which Gustave sadly placed the letter.

"B-b-but the M-m-master w-w-wears a mask…n-n-no one w-w-will take notice, right?" Rudolph asked, although he too was looking extremely worried.

Jacque grumbled something before removing a tin flask from his boot and taking a deep swig. "The Master is sure to stand out wherever he goes," he muttered. "And what's more, he's 'dressing up for the occasion'," he took another long deep swig. "Last I saw him, he was running in the direction to where the costumes were kept…no doubt he'll find something to his liking…who knows what he's turned himself into!"

Christine looked up at Jacque, the letter shaking in her hands. "The signature simply says 'R'."

Jacque glanced and Gustave and sighed. "I saw the letter being left near the trap door behind the stage curtains…by the Vicomte de Chagny."

Christine's eyes went wide as she recalled Erik's hatred for the Vicomte, as well as the Vicomte's refusal to believe that the Phantom existed. "It's a trap…" she whispered. "He's calling Erik out…he wants Erik to reveal himself…oh God."

Rudolph began sobbing at the thought of losing his Master, and Suzette quickly leapt to her feet. "Damn Erik!" she growled, surprising everyone by her tone. "Damn him for being obsessed with revenge rather than thinking of those who love him!" she said this with an obvious look at Christine.

"His hatred for the Vicomte blinds him," Gustave sighed. "Just as much as his obsession with music. I fear that the two combined…" he quickly crossed himself.

"So what are we going to do?" Jacque cried out, throwing his now empty flask against the wall. "Just…just sit here and wait for them to invade our home and take us away again?" Rudolph began to sob at the thought.

"No of course not!" Christine shouted. "Nothing is going to happen to any of you…or to Erik!"

The others stared at her with confusion. "W-w-what are you saying, my dear?" Suzette asked, although she felt a strange sense of joy and hope rise within her as she saw Christine's fiery spirit spring forth with life.

"I will go above and stop him before he does anything rash…or before anything happens to him," she vowed.

Both Suzette and Gustave brightened. "Yes! Yes of course!" Suzette declared. "You are the only one of us who can go above undetected! Yes! You can find the Master and warn him and bring him back before anything happens–"

"I don't like it!" Jacque muttered. "What do you mean 'undetected' anyway? You don't think people will wonder where she's been all this time if they see her?"

Gustave rolled his eyes. "It's a masked ball Jacque, Christine will be disguised."

But Jacque remained stubborn and indignant. "It's an excuse…an excuse to escape!"

"How dare you!" to everyone's surprise, it was Christine who spoke. "How dare you Jacque! How dare you think so little of me and how dare you accuse me of trickery! Have I not proved to you after so long that I would not betray any of you or your trust in me?" she marched over to him, her shoulders squared, her chin lifted, and her eyes burning like a storm-driven sea. "After months of having opportunities to escape, you think I would do so now…when my friends need me most? You truly think so little of me?"

Jacque turned away, but his face was already etched with shame. Rudolph approached and touched Christine's hand. "Y-y-you w-w-will come back?" he whispered, his voice full of hope.

Christine smiled up at the great hunchback and squeezed his hand before touching his face with the other. "I will not abandon you Rudolph…I promise."

"Come, come! We do not have time to argue or reassure one another," Suzette declared, taking Christine's hand and pulling her away. "We must get you ready for that ball…" the urgency was still in her voice, but so was an air of excitement. "And I know just the gown for you!"

Christine blushed and grinned as the tiny woman pulled her along the cold stone corridors. "It needn't be anything extravagant," she murmured. "I am only going above for what I hope will be as short as possible."

But Suzette was hearing none of it. "Nonsense! I don't care how long it takes for you to track the Master down and put a stop to this whole silly mess. The point is he will be seeing you…and I want him to be robbed of his breath!"

* * *

 

"Are you sure this was a wise decision Andre?" Firmin whispered, feeling utterly ridiculous in the costume he was wearing. He wore a green mask that resembled some sort of skull, and a green satin cape that at the time looked festive and dashing, but now he felt like an utter clown in the get-up. However, nothing was more ridiculous than Andre's costume; a black suit that was covered with pictures of bones from head to foot. He wore a red satin cape and a half-skull mask that covered his eyes and nose, as well as a black satin top hat to compliment the look. If it was possible for the look to be complimented…

"I have faith in the Vicomte's plan," Andre said with a smile, greeting guests here and there. "I thought for all the lectures you give me about trusting our dearest patron, you too would have great faith?"

Firmin adjusted his waistcoat. "Yes, but that was before I knew I was going to look like a buffoon!" he hissed.

The masquerade ball was well underway. Guests from the richest families in all of Paris were arriving, each wearing a costume more extravagant than the person before them. In the grand foyer, the sounds of laughter could be heard, as well as the smell of champagne and the dizzy sight of swirling gowns dancing to the orchestra that played. Amazing how well very little planning and notice went off.

"Monsieur!" Andre exclaimed as Raoul quietly approached the two managers. Raoul smiled and bowed his head to the two men, however it was obvious from the look on his face that he was looking for someone else. "Monsieur, where is your costume?" Andre inquired, taking notice that the Vicomte simply wore an elegant tuxedo.

"I do not believe in such frivolities," Raoul muttered, his eyes scanning the stairway and balconies above.

"That makes two of us," Firmin muttered, removing his mask at once.

Andre ignored Firmin's comment and followed the Vicomte's gaze. "I…I have not seen anyone…unusual, monsieur," he confessed, although finding someone unusual looking at a masquerade ball was like seeking a needle in a haystack.

"I have no fear that our 'guest of honor' will make his presence known in good time," he smiled, before taking a glass of champagne that was offered to him from a pretty young lady. "Now if you will excuse me," he said, following the pretty thing away from the managers.

Firmin did not like this at all. While it seemed that it was indeed the perfect trap, it still meant that the "Phantom" had an advantage; this was his territory…whoever he was.

"Good evening."

Both Firmin and Andre turned to the voice behind them, and gasped at the sight of the man before them. He was clothed from head to toe in red, the color of fresh blood. His jacket, which was tightly buttoned up, his breeches, even the cloak that he wore…all the color of blood. The only portions of him that weren't red were his black knee-high boots, his belt and sash, and the mask that he wore, which, ironically, looked like a skull, yet with more refined detail. It covered his whole face, save for his mouth. His hair was dark, black it seemed, and pulled back away from his mask. And his eyes…the color was both intimidating and penetrating. You wanted to look away immediately, but couldn't. Something compelled you to lock eyes with him. And it was extremely frightening.

"G-g-g-good e-e-evening, m-monsieur," Andre barely whispered, his lips trembling as he spoke.

The man, who towered over both managers, made a simple bow with his head, but his eyes never left their stunned pale faces. His eyes drifted over both of them, before looking them up and down, as if measuring their character. "Nice costume," he muttered to Andre, before sweeping past the two of them into the throng of dancers.

Andre and Firmin stared at the man in red as he went past them and disappeared into the crowd. "W-w-w-who was that?" Andre finally muttered when he found his voice again.

Firmin had no idea, but a strange and cold feeling was beginning to swell within him. "I'm not sure I want to know," he whispered.

"M-m-m-most likely noble blood," Andre attempted to reason. "After all, he…he looked like nobility."

"Nobility from hell?"

Andre shrugged his shoulders. "It is after all a masquerade…one is supposed to look different than they normally would…yes?"

Firmin realized that Andre was seeking reassurance, however he was not positive if he had any to give. "Perhaps we should find the Vicomte…"

Yet they were not the only ones seeking out the Vicomte de Chagny's presence. Raoul, who was dancing with a most delectable creature, was not aware of a pair of amber eyes watching him like a hunting predator. However, before the predator could move in for the kill, those two bumbling idiots came bursting through the crowd, pulling the Vicomte away from his partner.

Raoul, who was not pleased to be taken away from his next conquest, shook the hands off the managers and glared at the two of them. "This had better be good!" he hissed, his eyes losing sight of the sweet morsel he had been dancing with.

"Monsieur! We…we met someone, a man, dressed all in red, wearing a skull!"

Raoul stared at Andre as if he were the village idiot. "Oh, well that gives me a clear picture!" he sarcastically groaned, before tearing Andre's own skull mask off.

"Monsieur, we have…reasons to perhaps believe that…that this person…well, he may be our man," Firmin said carefully, hoping he at least did not sound nearly as foolish as his partner.

Raoul groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So let me understand…you encountered a man, dressed all in red, wearing a mask the shape of skull–"

"Wouldn't be surprised if it were a real skull!" Andre mumbled.

Raoul ignored the man's comment. "And simply because…this man looked menacing to you both…you assume therefore, that he is 'The Phantom'?"

Before, Firmin thought his comment sounded extremely intelligent. Not so much now. "If you had seen him monsieur," he explained. "I've never seen anyone like that before–"

"OF COURSE YOU HAVEN'T!" Raoul exploded, however he quickly lowered his voice so no one else would look. "This is a masquerade ball! No one looks like anyone you've seen before!"

"But monsieur!"

"I've had enough of this conversation!" Raoul hissed, turning on his heel to leave the two men, however the sight of a young woman entering the foyer momentarily stopped him. She was dressed in a golden gown with blue lace at the shoulders and bust. The gown was delectably cut low, leaving little to one's imagination, and her curves were lusciously flattered by the cut and style of the dress. Her arms were bare, save for a pair of lace gloves that she wore on her hands, and her hair, which sparkled with golden jewels, flowed wild and free off her creamy bare shoulders. Raoul stared at the mass of brown curls, sensing something familiar about the woman, but he couldn't see her face. She wore a golden mask that covered the upper part of her face, however the soft pink glow of her cheeks was still visible and beautifully illuminated by the candlelight of the foyer.

Firmin and Andre also took notice of the woman in the dazzling gown, as did several other jealous women who were purposefully tugging on the sleeves of their partners, who couldn't help but gawk somewhat. "Excuse me," Raoul muttered to the managers, quickly crossing the foyer to where the woman stood. "Mademoiselle," he greeted warmly, bowing humbly before taking one of her small lace-covered hands and kissing its surface.

Christine jumped at the sound of the Vicomte's greeting. She had been looking around for Erik the second she had entered the foyer, but knew it was going to be close to impossible to find him in this thick throng of masked dancers. However, now she had a different dilemma to contend with: the Vicomte de Chagny.

"Monsieur," Christine said with a curtsy, hoping he would not recognize her voice. Raoul gave no indication whatsoever.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked, extending his hand to the beautiful golden lady. He was extremely curious as to who she was; something about her…just seemed so familiar.

Christine's first reaction was to decline his invitation. After all, she cared little for the handsome Vicomte, and she had not forgotten his treatment of her so many months ago. Yet if she refused his offer, it may cause suspicion, and the last thing she wanted was him attempting to pursue her the whole night. Perhaps one dance would sate him, or so she prayed. "Thank you, monsieur," she said politely, taking his hand and following him out to the dance floor. At least by dancing together, he would not be able to unleash a trap on Erik...

Everyone was dancing, couples swirling around in a mass of color and silk, all the faces masked, all of them laughing and being merry. But where was her Erik? Where was her masked love?

Christine's focus changed as she felt the strong arms of the Vicomte wrap around her body, pulling her a little too close to his chest, as his feet expertly began dancing to the music. "I must say…I'm most curious as to know who you are," he murmured, his eyes dancing over her masked face and hair. Christine only prayed that her eyes would not give anything away…however she had little fear in that, as she believed her eyes were the last things his would focus on.

"Come now, monsieur," she chided. "Why ruin the mystery with revealing names?"

Raoul chuckled. "Too true, my dear, too true." He swirled her around, and Christine gasped as she saw a masked figure leering at her, but when she was swirled again, she realized the figure was not who she thought. No matter what costume Erik was wearing, Christine knew in her heart she would recognize him when she saw him.

"You don't like to talk much, do you?" Raoul remarked. Christine blushed and turned to face her dance partner. Raoul's brow furrowed even more. "You also don't seem to know this dance."

Christine's eyes went wide. Naturally he thought her a lady of great wealth and connections, a lady who would have been trained at an early age in all sorts of formal dancing, but because Christine was a country girl, she knew nothing about formal dancing, other than the simple country dances she and other country born children learned at village assemblies. "Forgive me," she replied. "It's just…not too long ago I suffered an ankle injury…and this is my first dance since," she gave a sweet smile which she hoped would distract him from her lack of dancing skills.

Raoul cocked an eyebrow. "You must have been off your feet for quite some time."

Christine bit her tongue. Even if she wasn't dancing very well, a gentleman should never make such a rude comment! But she plastered a smile on her lips and gave a girlish giggle, which seemed to have distracted the Vicomte entirely.

"I really am curious as to know who you are, however," he whispered. "I know everyone connected with the Opera House…as well as everyone who was invited tonight in Paris…therefore, I am left with either two conclusions."

Christine held her breath.

"Either your disguise is so sophisticated that I truly am at a loss as to guessing who you are…or you are lying to me and should not be here."

This accusation caused Christine to pale, however she could tell in the Vicomte's dancing green eyes that he was having fun with his joke. "So tell me the truth…did you really hurt your ankle some time ago? Or did you decide to throw on one of your mistress' gowns and play Cinderella for the night?"

Christine knew that if she weren't in the situation she was in right now, she would greatly slap Raoul for his arrogance and rude behavior. However, she decided to prove who was the better actor of the two: her, or him whose mask was that of a noble gentleman.

"Promise not to tell?" Christine whispered, looking up with large doleful eyes, before sharing a secret smile. Raoul was momentarily at a loss for words; he had not expected his theory to be correct, but so it was.

"Your secret is safe with me, my lady," Raoul vowed, as well as vowing to himself to become better acquainted with this luscious minx all the better. "And I must say…whoever your mistress is…you truly outshine her and all the other ladies."

"Thank you, monsieur, you are too kind," she replied with a smile, although it was a smile of pride for her acting skills, not for his compliment.

Now with that mystery solved, Raoul continued to swirl the mysterious lady around the dance floor. "Since I promise to keep your secret safe, why not grant me a name?"

"Oh monsieur, by doing that I may reveal too much…come, can you not lose yourself for one night in mystery?"

He could, yes, but it frustrated him so. He was the seducer; he was the one in charge; he didn't like losing control over a situation…or another person. "Very well, I shall play your game," Raoul muttered. "And what was it exactly that compelled you to retreat here this evening?"

Christine knew exactly what he wanted to hear…and she suddenly felt a slight touch of the Phantom's vindictiveness wash over her. "Why…to see you of course, Monsieur Vicomte."

Raoul stared at the woman. "You know me?" he quickly shook his head, as if shaking off the stupidity of that comment. Of course she knew him, practically all of Paris knew who he was. "I am flattered my dear…but I highly doubt that is your sole reason."

Christine couldn't believe the arrogance of the man; while he admitted he wasn't the only reason for her to come, he had not denied that it was a reason. "Tis true monsieur," Christine murmured. "After all, you did compare me to Cinderella…if I am she…then you must be the prince."

Raoul felt the smile on his face grow even broader. "I thank you my lady, although I do hope you will not flee at the stroke of twelve."

Christine suddenly remembered the words of the invitation that Jacque and Gustave had shown her. "Not at all…for by doing that, I will miss the announcement of the new opera the company is planning."

Raoul's smile fell away, and he stopped dancing at once. "How did you know it was going to be about a new opera?"

Christine held back of gasp as she realized her mistake. She could not pale or blush, she simply had to look as natural as possible. "Well, the invitation clearly said…that at the stroke of twelve, there would be an announcement…about a new project the Paris Opera House was going to do before the end of the opera season…" she prayed she had not missed anything. "One can only assume therefore that it is a new opera…yes?"

Raoul saw her logic, and had to admit it was fairly accurate and an easy assumption to make. "Yes…yes of course," he whispered, his feet once again picking up where he had left off.

Christine slowly let out a shaky breath, knowing that had been too close to call. "I feel the need for some fresh air," Raoul announced, tucking her arm under his. "Come, let us retreat somewhere more…private."

Christine paled at his invitation. "Oh, but…monsieur, the dance–"

"–will still be carrying on when we return, do not worry," he began to lead her away from the floor and Christine was not sure what she could do without causing a scene.

However, her fear in that regard was quickly squashed.

"I'm cutting in."

Christine didn't see him…but she didn't have to. His voice was enough to tell her where he was, which was right behind her, and the tone told her exactly how he felt…which was far from happy.

One fear squashed, but a new one arose in its place.

Raoul turned at the voice, his brow furrowed in frustration at who would dare come between him and the lady of his choice, but for the first time since Christine had known him, she saw the Vicomte's face pale with fear. She could only imagine how menacing Erik must look…

"W-w-who are you?" Raoul murmured, his eyes locked with the hard amber ones of the other man.

"Let's say…an old acquaintance," Erik softly remarked, his voice thick and cold. "And once more…I'm cutting in."

Raoul was at a loss for words, and slowly, agonizingly, Christine turned around to face her captor, her teacher, and the man she loved. And as she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his…she realized how correct she had been about his menacing displeasure.

After the managers had pulled Raoul to one side, Erik retreated away from the dance floor, caring not for the strange looks he received from other dancers as he passed. Several members of the company stopped and stared at him, some trembling with fear as he passed. But he paid them no heed, he did not turn to meet any of their eyes, he simply climbed the great staircase and disappeared into the shadows high above the foyer.

Several couples were there as well, heavily kissing or attempting to do much more, but upon his presence, they quickly disappeared, leaving him in peace with the shadows. He watched as the managers and the Vicomte talked, a smirk spreading across his face as he imagined the Vicomte's displeasure for being interrupted from his latest seduction. At last, the Vicomte was turning away, and now would be the perfect time to make his presence known to the pompous arrogant aristocrat, yet before he even took one step out of the shadows…something caught his attention in the far entryway of the grand foyer. Something golden…something sparkling…something…something beautiful.

And as the crowds softly parted to let this lovely creature in, Erik's eyes were filled with her dazzling beauty, and he swore he felt his heart stop. He knew he was not breathing…

But that feeling only lasted a brief moment before it was replaced with a hot feeling of anger at the sight of her. What was she doing here? What in the devil's name did she think she was doing? He wanted to wrap his hands around that creamy neck of hers and straggle her…or at least grab her by those shoulders and give her a good hard shake till some sense was knocked into her.

But his feeling of anger was quickly replaced with something even darker and deadlier. For he was not the only man that was taken by her beauty; the Viccomte was approaching…and Erik stood in stunned silence as he watched the bastard ask for the pleasure of a dance…and Christine accept his offer.

No. The Vicomte had gotten away with too much now. He had his pick of all the other women in the room, and Erik had no doubt that they would all gladly fall on their backs and spread their legs for the bastard. But not his angel…not his Christine.

Erik would rather die a thousand horrifying deaths than see the Vicomte's hands on her.

Christine gazed up at him, swallowing the large terrified lump in her throat. She knew him very well, and in the time of living below the Opera House, she had gotten to know and see the vast array of emotions he went through.

But not since the first time they had met when she had come to rescue her father, had Christine felt more foreboding.

Yet despite his wild look of anger and…was that jealousy? Despite how he looked at her now…the heat of his gaze still caused her blood to boil with longing. Despite the costume and mask that he wore, one that caused others to back away out of fear…Christine could not help but find him devastatingly handsome and seductive.

For a long silent moment, one that crept on for what felt like an eternity, the two of them stared at one another, and soon, the whole room became silent, watching to see whether the strange tall man dressed like Red Death would lure away the beautiful woman in the golden gown from the handsome Vicomte de Chagny.

This very thought was what caused Raoul to protest. "No monsieur, you may not!" he wrapped an arm around Christine's shoulders, a gesture which only made Erik's eyes inflame brighter. "There are many ladies seeking a dance partner…ask one of them."

"I am asking this lady," Erik growled deep and low, his gaze falling back to Christine's. She trembled as her eyes locked with his once more, but then, so silently that only her ears could hear him, he whispered, "Honor me with a dance, mademoiselle?"

The question was hypnotic, and Christine's hand was already moving to take hold of Erik's. His penetrating gaze seemed to have an affect on the other women too, for several of them began fanning themselves rapidly, as others leaned away from their partners, hoping to look more available.

Raoul stared in horror as his mysterious companion was willingly leaving him…HIM…for this masked mad man! "Unhand her!" Raoul roared, one of his hands grasping Christine's arm very tightly, attempting to yank her away from Red Death, while his other hand went to throw Erik's off her.

However, as Christine gasped from the pain, Erik's hand twisted out of the Vicomte's, and went immediately for Raoul's throat. The whole room gasped as Raoul was lifted off the floor by Red Death's strong grip, the Vicomte flailing about like a fish out of water, releasing Christine and pounding against Erik's arm to release him as he choked for breath.

"I could kill you now," he growled dangerously, "but I won't…that will wait for another day…" he evilly promised. "But if you touch her ever again…ever, I will skin you alive and cut into your flesh until you beg me to kill you!" he spat, before throwing Raoul from him, the Vicomte landing with a great thud, the whole room gasping and several ladies screaming and fainting from the scene.

The managers rushed over to the coughing, sputtering Vicomte, but Raoul, with as much strength as he had, pushed them aside, his eyes alight with green fire as he stared at the man dressed as Red Death.

Erik, satisfied that his point had been made, led the stunned Christine out onto the dance floor, which had emptied significantly the moment he approached. "A waltz!" Erik roared to the orchestra who was also staring in stunned silence. When the cords of the music did not begin, he cast them a glare which immediately brought them back to life. At once, the music started, and Erik enfolded the still stunned Christine into his arms, and began to lead her through the elegant dance steps.

Christine clung to Erik's shoulders, her eyes wide with disbelief for what had just taken place. Erik's eyes locked with hers, and for the longest time, the two of them danced in silence, the music the only thing filling their ears.

Yet while they danced, while Erik led her through the steps, his feet moving with expert skill, swirling her around as if she weighed next to nothing, Christine was not aware of anything other than him. She knew that they were being watched by everyone, and she knew that this was not the reason that she had come above, that she had to warn him, to bring him back before anything horrible happened…but she was caught under the spell of desire. How long had she dreamed of this moment, to be in his arms again, to feel his body so close to hers? She had often imagined the two of them dancing…but had no idea it would feel this intense, this passionate, or in such a setting as this.

"You dance divinely, mademoiselle," Erik whispered, his voice so deep and low that Christine's spine tingled at the sound.

"As do you, monsieur," Christine whispered, feeling the Phantom's spell of seduction coming over her once again. "Where did you learn to dance like this?"

Erik chuckled softly. "You'd be amazed at all the things I do know…" without warning he dipped her deeply, causing both her and the other ladies in the room to gasp with shock.

He grinned as he saw her eyes go wide from the move, but he was pleased even more so at seeing how much she liked it. He moved his head down, till his lips were just above her ear. "Why did you come here?" he hissed so only she would hear.

Christine lifted her head, her eyes locking with his. "It's a trap!" she hissed. "They are going to do something horrible!"

Suddenly, without warning, causing more people to gasp again, Erik let out a loud roar of laughter. Christine's eyes narrowed at the sound, disliking the way he laughed at her concern. "You honestly think I haven't considered that?" he growled in her ear.

Christine frowned. "If you have, then did you also consider what may happen to your friends, should anything happen to you?"

"Nothing will happen to me," Erik reassured, but Christine did not like the way he said it. It was too smug. She gasped when she felt his hand flatten and press against her back, causing her body to arch into his strong broad frame. "I appreciate your concern," he whispered sincerely, "but do not think that will get you out of any trouble." Before she could respond, he once again dipped her deeply, only this time it was slower and far more seductive. The cords of the music ended, and Erik's eyes locked with Christine's open and parted lips, remembering their texture and taste, and felt his body grow hard with desire to once again lose himself in her kiss.

But he quickly rose to his full height, bringing Christine with him, the girl stunned and panting from the intense heat of the dance. Erik's eyes scanned the crowd around the two of them, thinking it rude that no one was even offering a round of applause for their dancing; however, he would be lying to say he was surprised.

"I think the time has come, my dear," he murmured. "For the Phantom to make his debut for the whole world." 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A countdown has begun; a countdown towards midnight, a countdown towards revelation, and a countdown towards...the inevitable.

_**Countdown** _

Raoul groaned, his head aching in his hands as he held the cold wet cloth to his right temple. There was far too much noise going on in the managers' tiny office, and what he needed now more than ever was peace and quiet.

"Send everyone home!" he growled at the managers who were trying to keep people calm and who were running out of excuses to explain what had happened that night.

"We're trying monsieur!" Andre said with desperation. "We're trying our best!"

"Try harder!" Raoul barked, cradling his head and moaning at the throbbing ache of his temple.

Carlotta was pacing back and forth, fuming at the events of the evening, while Piangi, like a lapdog, was following her every direction. "The party was ruined!" she cried. "I can't believe you let that happen!" she shouted at all the men in the office.

"It was not intentional, my dear," Raoul grumbled.

"Cara is quite right!" Piangi scolded. "That party was in her honor! It was thrown so that all of Paris would know that their prima donna lives on! And you let that…that mad man, steal her glory!"

Normally Carlotta would tell Piangi to shut up, however, because he was filling her ears with words she wanted to hear, she simply patted her dog on the head while lifting her nose in the air. "The ball was in honor of the whole company," Raoul muttered. "And once again…everything that happened tonight was not done intentionally!"

Carlotta glared at the man who she had shared her bed with for well over a year. "I can't believe you let him get away!" she spat.

Raoul glared at her. "I'm not sure if you noticed my dear, but I was the only one attempting to stop him before he…he performed that…that 'spell', so to speak! I don't recall seeing your precious Ubaldo racing into action to stop him!"

Piangi sputtered at Raoul's insult, however had nothing to say as it was true. "And I'm sorry I failed to follow him after he branded me over the head…let alone choke me to death!" Raoul growled, muttering obscenities to himself while clutching the cloth to his head.

"Madame Giry is seeing out all the guests," Firmin declared, before collapsing into his own chair. "Thank God for that woman…"

"And the way she can order people," Andre commented, also collapsing.

Raoul looked at the two managers, his eyes glowing wildly. "Madame Giry…GET MADAME GIRY IN HERE NOW!"

The two managers stared at the Vicomte as if he were mad. "G-g-get Madame Giry…now?"

"Yes, damn it! Bring her here at once!" he swore as the pain in his head throbbed all the more harder. "Get her in here now!" Andre and Firmin exchanged exhausted glances, before they rose from their chairs to retrieve the ballet mistress.

Carlotta continued to glare at Raoul. "Perhaps none of this would have happened if you hadn't been dancing with that…that…that twit!"

Raoul glared right back. "You can not possibly be serious," he muttered.

Carlotta lifted her chin, securing her fur wrap around her shoulders. "Perhaps if you had been dancing with me instead, rather than that girl, none of this would have happened!"

Raoul had never wanted to throttle Carlotta more than this very moment. Listening to her high-pitched shrieks of displeasure was more than he could handle. But listening to her lectures was ten times worse. The events of the evening slowly replayed in his head; after the man dressed as Red Death had threatened his life, prior to hurling him across the floor, Raoul watched in horror, hatred, and fascination as the mysterious woman willingly went into the other man's arms, dancing with him as if…as if she knew him, and…it caused Raoul's jaw to clench as he recalled how her body responded to Red Death's touch. He scrambled to his feet as their agonizing dance finally came to an end. He would have his revenge on whoever the masked fiend was.

And then the loud chimes of midnight could be heard echoing throughout the grand foyer.

"Happy New Year!" Red Death announced to the stunned crowd. The smile in which he wore was one full of cold calculating promise. "Why so silent? After all, you were expecting me, yes?" Everyone simply stared with wide eyes and open mouths. "Well, I suppose there's no need for formalities," he sighed, slowly ascending the great staircase, his hand holding that of the golden woman's. "As promised, there is an announcement in regards to the opera season, and since my dear managers appear speechless…perhaps they will allow me to break the news?" Neither Firmin nor Andre spoke, they simply stared in awe. "I'm afraid the news is both good and bad," Red Death continued. "What is left of the opera season…has been canceled." Carlotta gave a most indignant gasp that filled the whole room. "However, the reasons for its cancellation are due to the announcement of a new opera…one that will take place at the end of the season: _Don Juan Triumphant_!"

A great gasp went throughout the whole room, and the two managers paled with realization as who was addressing them. Raoul on the other hand, who was also in shock, felt his anger flow as the menace who had been causing him so much trouble for far too long…had finally immerged.

"This opera is of my own creation," Red Death explained, causing everyone to gasp even louder, and for the woman in the golden gown to stare at him with wild blue eyes. "And…I suggest my dear messieurs," Red Death directed, his eyes falling on the managers, "that you comply with the list of instructions that I have, here." He then produced a piece of parchment from his waist coat, thrusting it out into the air. "The instructions are quite clear," he explained. "Therefore it should not be too hard for you to follow them…after all, we would not want any more…accidents…" his eyes fell on Carlotta, who paled and shrank behind Piangi who stood near by. "…to occur."

The hand that had been holding the parchment now rose again to his waist coat. "Thank you Monsieur Vicomte," Red Death saluted with an elegant, as well as mocking, bow. "This has been quite the party…and I do believe it is going to be a most promising new year."

"STOP HIM!" Raoul roared, pushing past the managers, racing toward the staircase and climbing the steps two at a time. However, Red Death was ahead of him. He removed something small from his waistcoat, threw the object on the ground, which created a small explosion that caused many of the guests to cry out with fear, before disappearing in a great cloud of thick white smoke. However, the man had not disappeared entirely, for as Raoul scrambled through the smoke to find the place Red Death had been standing, he felt a hard thud come crashing against his right temple, causing him to fall backward and roll down several steps.

When he came to, the Opera House was in uproar. Men and women were running around screaming, the managers were trying to calm everyone down, and everywhere he turned, he kept hearing the same words over and over again. "The Phantom of the Opera! He was here! That was him!"

Raoul was quickly ushered into the managers' office where he was given a cold cloth to press against his head, but all he could think about was the Phantom…and how greatly he had underestimated the situation.

The Phantom was real! That was no stagehand playing a prank. That was a flesh and blood man, a man who dressed like Death, a man who still possessed a great threat to him and could send him into financial ruin! And, as he recalled the man's iron grip around his neck, he also possessed unusual strength.

"Here she is!" Andre announced, ushering in the ballet mistress who looked both cold and annoyed that she had been summoned.

"Yes, monsieur?" she sighed, her hands cupped together, her expression cold and hard like stone.

Raoul rubbed his throat once more, before slowly rising from his chair. "Who is he?" he demanded.

Madame Giry's brow furrowed at the Vicomte's words. "I beg your pardon, monsieur?"

"WHO IS HE?" Raoul roared, throwing the cloth on the ground. "WHO WAS THAT? TELL ME WHO HE IS AT ONCE!"

Despite the Vicomte's explosion, Madame Giry remained ever calm and collected. "I do not know, monsieur."

"Horse shit!" Raoul spat, causing everyone, save for Madame Giry, to gasp. "You know him, you know who he is…and I demand that you tell me at once…or I will see to it that both you and your precious daughter are thrown out onto the street!"

The managers opened their mouths to protest, but were quickly silenced by one of Raoul's icy stares. Madame Giry, however, did not bat one eye or show any sign of intimidation. "You know who he is monsieur…he did not formally say it, but he made himself quite known tonight."

Raoul couldn't decide who he wanted to kill more, Carlotta or Madame Giry. "Was that the Phantom?" Raoul growled, his hands balling into extremely tight fists.

"What do you think, monsieur?" she asked.

"DAMN IT!" Raoul roared again. "ANSWER MY QUESTION!"

Madame Giry sighed and lowered her head. "He certainly fits the description, according to what the stagehands say. Mask, cape, tall, dark, and extremely menacing in appearance…it all seems to fit together, does it not?"

Raoul stormed right up to the woman, towering over her small dark frame, using all the will he had left to not wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze. "Now listen to me carefully Madame…listen well, for your daughter's dancing career depends greatly upon this answer," he threatened. "Do you know him?"

Madame Giry raised an eyebrow at his question. "How exactly do you mean?"

"YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT I MEAN!" he shouted. "Are you protecting him? Are you a spy for him? ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!"

Madame Giry ignored the spit that flew in her face from the Vicomte's shouts. "I have been at this opera house since I was 14. And like all places that are old, there tends to be a history of strange occurrences, and one can not help but begin to believe the mysterious stories they hear, the tales of ghosts lurking in the shadows. Like all those stories, I heard of his too…a creature of darkness that runs everything here–"

"NO!" Raoul shouted. "I run everything here! Not some…some masked fiend!"

Madame Giry continued, ignoring Raoul's outburst. "For many years, the Paris Opera House ran smoothly, becoming one of the most successful and beloved places of music and art in all of Europe. However, since we've been under new management," her eyes fell on Andre and Firmin who's eyes fell to their feet, "problems have arisen…more notes have been written…and there seems to be a growing list of threats."

"And you deny that you are not in league with him?" Raoul growled.

Madame Giry simply matched his green fire gaze with an even icier one. "If you mean, 'am I out to destroy you' monsieur? No. I have more important matters to deal with; you are not worth the time or effort."

As Piangi had done earlier, it was Raoul's turn to sputter in shock. Madame Giry could not repress a tiny smile at this sight. "I know the Phantom of the Opera the same way all the rest of company know him…we know of his presence, we know of his demands, and we know our places and how he likes to run things. But if you mean do I know who he is, and where he is from…I can not answer that for you monsieur, because he is truly an enigma. Like darkness itself, he too is just as aloof."

Raoul stared at the woman, shocked speechless by everything she had just said. "You're hiding something…" he murmured. "You know more than you're letting on…"

Madame Giry sighed. "If I do monsieur, are you prepared to throw me out, knowing that you will not receive this information? For I assure you, if anything were to happen to either me or my daughter, then the possibility of you learning more…is gone."

Damn the woman! Damn her cleverness and coldness! Raoul turned away from her, barking an order to the managers to remove her at once from the office. He collapsed once again into his chair, both his hands rising to cradle his aching head. The Phantom was real…he was no myth, no ghost story, no nightmarish figment…but a real flesh and blood man. François had been right; Daae had been right; everyone who believed in the Phantom had been right! And tonight, his plan had fallen to pieces; the Phantom answered his bluff, but instead of having control, Raoul lost it and the Phantom immediately swept it, grabbed it, and announced his opera to the whole of Paris, showing everyone how much of a fool he, the Vicomte de Chagny, was.

 _Alright_ , Raoul thought. _If it's war this ghost wants, then war is what he'll get!_

"This is that girl's fault!" Carlotta exclaimed after Madame Giry was removed from the office. "Did you not see how possessive he was to her?" she swore in Italian. "If you had released her, no, if you hadn't danced with her in the first place, then none of this would have happened!"

Raoul was ready to roar at the spoiled soprano, but stopped himself, her words catching him off guard. "Possessive?" he whispered.

Carlotta stared at Raoul as if he were crazy. "Yes! You were there! You saw how possessive he was of her, whoever she was," she muttered.

It struck him then. The hair…the voice…the eyes…everything…

"Christine…" he whispered.

"Beg your pardon, monsieur?" Firmin asked.

"Nothing," Raoul grumbled, rising from his chair once more and walking over to the fireplace, his eyes reflecting the burning embers. The allusive Christine Daae…the old man was right; she was the Phantom's prisoner.

But why then, had she gone so willingly into his arms? Why did it seem as if…she enjoyed their dance? His jaw clenched all the more as the images of the Phantom and Christine dancing together floated across his memory. Why was she there in the first place?

"Escape…" he whispered. Of course…she was hoping to escape her captor's clutches! That had to be it! And she was pretending to be a nobody so as to not draw the Phantom's attention! She had found him because, as Daae had said, he was the only one who could help her. The Phantom found her before she could escape, and most likely took her with him again. The poor dear…especially since she was filthy rich and had no idea.

He only hoped that the goods weren't damaged; he wanted to be the first to feel her untrained tightness engulf him.

"Monsieur?" Firmin called out, glancing at Andre with worry. "Monsieur! What should we do?"

Raoul shook his head, focusing again on the managers before him. "Do? We…" he paused, thinking quickly. "We play his game," he finally concluded.

Both managers began to cough and choke. "W-w-what!"

"Yes gentlemen, I fully intend to play along, to announce to all of Paris, as our dear Phantom suggested, that the rest of the opera season has been canceled and to make way for…for whatever he calls it," he muttered with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, and then what?" Andre inquired.

Raoul stared at the flames as they seemed to roar with a new life. "Then, we set the trap…only this time, we'll use better bait…and we'll know how big of a trap to get."

* * *

 "ERIK! ERIK YOU PUT ME DOWN AT ONCE!" Christine shrieked, her tiny fists pounding as hard as they could into the Phantom's back, yet she could put a dent in it for all she knew…he showed no sign of releasing her.

After Erik's revelation to the whole ball, and before the Vicomte de Chagny could reach them, he threw some sort of vile onto the ground, causing a great explosion and a large cloud of white smoke to be released, offering the two of them the perfect escape. She gasped as she felt his arm wrap around her, and bit back a scream as she felt the ground beneath her feet disappear. Yet as always, Erik was by her side, keeping her safe, knowing exactly what he was doing. She wondered how many trap doors were in this theater.

The fall was not long, and amazingly enough, they landed softly on the ground. Erik said nothing; he simply grabbed hold of her hand and broke out into a fast-paced gallop. She clung to his hand to keep up; cursing the slippers she wore as well as the beautiful, but very heavy, skirts of her gown. Finally, when they at last came to an area that she recognized, he stopped his running, which only caused Christine to bump into his back, before turning on her, fiery rage alight in his eyes.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING UP THERE?"

Christine shook his hand from hers and squared her shoulders, her own eyes returning his glare. "I WAS TRYING TO WARN YOU!" she spat. "UNLIKE YOU, I HAPPEN TO CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO YOUR FRIENDS!"

Erik growled low and deep, a dangerous growl which caused the hairs on the back of Christine's neck to rise. "I don't need your help! I am PERFECTLY capable of looking after myself!" he hissed. "I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING! AND HOW DARE YOU CLAIM THAT I DON'T CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM!"

Christine turned her back on him, the rage boiling in her blood. She had gone above not only out of concern, but out of love for him, pure passion-filled love! And for one beautiful moment, she was able to forget the danger they were both in, and lose herself in his arms.

But that moment had been shattered.

Reality had come crashing back like the icy cold waters of the ocean. Once again, the man who hid behind the mask stood before her, the man who refused to allow anyone or anything to get truly close to him. "Don't walk away from me," he growled, crossing the short distance between them in one easy stride. His hand grasped her shoulders and he swirled her around to face him. Angry at his gesture, Christine pushed against his chest with all her might, her body momentarily free from his grasp.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted. "And don't tell me what to do! I'm not a child or some…some slave you can command whenever you wish!"

Erik's eyes were growing darker by the second. His fingers were flexing back and forth into fists of rage. "You are a thorn in my side is what you are!" he bellowed.

Christine lifted her chin with indignation. "Well, I beg your pardon, monsieur," she said with great sarcasm, offering a curtsy which reflected her tone of voice. "I shall remember that next time you throw yourself into danger–"

"GOOD GOD, I WASN'T IN ANY DANGER!"

"Oh really? What pray tell do you think the Vicomte was up to? That it was a simple and friendly invitation? That he wanted the two of you to let bygones be bygones?"

Erik gritted his teeth. "I could tell you enjoyed his company," he growled with loathing. "Perhaps you should tell the truth my dear…that 'coming to my rescue' so to speak, was an excuse to play dress-up and fuck the Vicomte de Chagny!"

Christine's eyes widened at his coarse language. "HOW DARE YOU!" she cried, her right hand rising to slap his face, even though the skull mask that he wore would catch her blow.

Erik however moved quicker, grasping her wrist with his large powerful hand, his eyes locking with hers. "Have I struck a nerve?"

Christine screamed with rage and pounded her free fist against his chest. Without another word or thought, Erik easily scooped her up, and much to her disdain, threw her over his shoulder, ignoring her high-pitched protests and pounding fists.

He spoke not one word to her as he carried her back to his lair, the whole way Christine screaming for freedom. "PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT ERIK! PUT ME DOWN!" Yet it was no use, Erik was in one of his determined moods which meant nothing, not even all the angels of heaven and the demons from hell could stop him.

The others heard Christine's screams and came into the tunnels, happy to see their master alive and unharmed, but trembling with fear as they saw the rage written in his eyes. "ALL OF YOU BACK TO YOUR CHAMBER!" he roared at them. "I have a score to settle with Mademoiselle Daae."

Christine heard his words and momentarily froze her fists wondering what exactly he meant. But then the fire was boiling within her anew and she wriggled her feet, pounded his back, she even attempted to pull at his hair, anything to get him to put her down. "I swear Erik, if you do not release me, I'll tear up your music and never sing again!"

Suddenly, without warning, Christine came crashing down onto her backside, gasping as she fell, but thankful for the Persian pillows that softened the blow. She looked around and realized they were in his music chamber. His back was to her and he was removing the red velvet suit coat and sash, as well as changing his mask to the one he normally wore. He only turned to face her until he was satisfied that the mask was securely in place.

Christine's anger only kindled more as she felt her heartbeat betray her; it quickened as she took in the sight of Erik, dressed now in a simple linen shirt, the neck wide open, and the tight red breeches he had worn at the ball. Damn him for being so seductive! Damn her heart for loving him with such a passion! She quickly scrambled to her feet, throwing off the mask that she still wore, her eyes alight with the same fiery rage, although his seemed so much colder…which was all the more frightening.

"Do not EVER treat me in such a way again!" she shouted, throwing the lace gloves on the floor next to her mask. "And don't you EVER talk to me as you did, you vile, loathsome–"

"Beast?" he offered for her, his arms folding across his chest.

"NO!" she screamed with perhaps a little too much passion. "I wasn't going to say that!"

"Ah, but you were thinking it," he growled, turning his back on her and grabbing hold of a wine bottle to which he pursued to guzzle.

Christine hated it when men drank as a way to shut up women. She reviled the gesture, and knew it would only make things worse. She crossed the chamber to where he stood, and much to his surprise, grabbed hold of the bottle from his fist and threw it hard against the wall.

"DAMNATION WOMAN!" he shouted, watching the bottle's contents drip down the wall. "ARE YOU MAD?" he roared, grabbing hold of her shoulders and shaking her hard.

"Apparently so since I actually cared to come above and warn you!" she hissed.

Erik pushed her away from him and crossed the chamber again, needing to get away from her, not wanting to lash out, but feeling the desire to do so grow by the second. "I told you…" he said through very tight lips. "I–"

"Knew what you were doing, yes, yes, I know!" she growled back, crossing the room to where he stood. "How foolish of me to care! How foolish of me to not have seen through your plans!"

He whirled around and grabbed her by the shoulders again. "WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT?" he roared, giving her another good hard shake. "You want me to tell you…how glad I was to see you there? Because I wasn't!" he said with a hard shake. "I thought we had trust, Christine!"

Christine pushed her palms against his chest, but he was having none of it, his grip on her shoulders did not lesson. "Don't you speak to me about a lack of trust! You clearly have little for me!"

Erik's eyes widened at her words. "I have shown you EVERYTHING! I have taken you through all my tunnels, you know practically every secret passageway of this theater! I have even shared my music and valued your opinions!"

Christine released a cold harsh laugh. "Except when I try to get you to see reason about the character of Aminta!"

Erik felt the demon within him rise up, ready to burst forth and wreak all sorts of havoc. "Do not even attempt to speak with me about that! You yourself proved all too well tonight how much a man can trust another woman!"

Christine stared at him, her blue eyes growing wider at his words. "What do you mean by that?" she gasped.

"Oh I think you know my dear," he growled, suddenly sweeping her up in his arms and dancing around the chamber with her. "Have you so easily forgotten the Vicomte's dance?"

Christine paled and then felt heat rush to her cheeks. Erik scoffed at the sight. "Even now, the mere mention of his name causes you to blush!"

"I only danced with him so as to not cause suspicion!" she hissed. "You know his personality! If I had refused, he would have pursued me all evening, determined to make his conquest! And by dancing with him, I knew that he could not bring any harm to you!"

Erik threw back his head with laughter, the same cold laughter that echoed throughout the grand foyer not so long ago. "Oh how thoughtful of you!" he declared with great sarcasm. "Dancing with my greatest enemy for my benefit! Truly, your kindness knows no boundaries."

Christine shoved against him as hard as she could, not wanting to be in the circle of his arms, wanting to hate him, wanting to loathe him, not wanting to be reminded that despite how greatly he infuriated her, that she still loved him. Erik was also fighting the same battle, telling himself to release her, that this could only lead to more trouble, but the dance they had shared earlier reminded him once again how right she felt in his arms…and how right it felt to be so close to her. No! He had to be strong! He could not lose his senses as he had done that night when they had kissed.

"I've told you before, I care nothing for the Vicomte de Chagny!" she spat.

"Oh yes, your disgust with him was quite plain for the entire world to see," he growled.

Christine glared up at him. "I…am…NOT…Marie!" she screamed between each word. "And don't you EVER compare me to her again!"

"I don't have to! It's quite obvious!" he shouted back. Before she could protest he carried on, his grip around her body tightening all the more. "Do not think that your mask saved you from his suspicions…if I recognized you, what makes you think he didn't?"

"What are you talking about?"

Erik's eyes glowed with a dark fire. "Come now! Arriving in such a gown that was made to catch the eye? All the men were leering at you when you entered!" he growled at the memory, never before feeling more hatred towards his own gender as in that moment. "And you think he had no memory of your hair?" he asked, his eyes focusing on the lovely chocolate curls that sparkled with golden jewels. "Or your eyes?" his own focused deeply into hers, and Christine stopped struggling as they locked. "Or the curves of your body?" he whispered deep and low, and she gasped as she felt his hardness rubbing against her lower abdomen. She suddenly felt dizzy, and that strange sensation had returned between her thighs. Erik's arms tightened even more about her, pushing her body against his, reveling in the feel of her softness against him, wanting to rip her from the gown and feel her skin touch his, to run his fingers over her curves, to taste her flesh, to bury himself deep within her and pour his very essence into her soul.

Christine's eyes were fluttering as she gazed up at him, her lips parted, all manner of speech having been robbed. She clung to his arms for balance, but she felt as limp as a doll. Her eyes kept going back and forth between his and his mouth, as were Erik's. They were only a breath away…if she leaned up on the tips of her toes…and if he bent his head just a little further…

Erik quickly pushed her away from him, releasing her from his grip, practically hobbling away from her as if he had been burned. Christine almost fell to the ground, her knees trembling violently. They stared at one another, only a short distance between the two of them, but Erik dared not cross it. If he did…there would be no turning back.

"L-l-leave me," he whispered, his voice shaking with…fear? Regret? Sorrow? He was feeling all those things at once.

Christine remembered how events had played out the night they had kissed, and Suzette's words were ringing loud and clear in memory. She stood her ground, prepared once again for battle. "No."

Erik looked at her, his hands gripping the piano for support. "This is no game Christine! I mean it! LEAVE ME NOW!"

She took a deep breath and slowly began to approach him. "No," she repeated.

Erik stared at her, his eyes growing wider and the visible side of his face growing paler at her persistence. "I'm warning you…" he growled.

"I'm not leaving you again, Erik," she murmured, her hands slowly moving to touch his face, but his were faster, gripping her wrists tightly. Yet Christine continued, knowing this was her only chance. "Yes, I was pretending tonight when I danced with the Vicomte, but not with you…never with you," she whispered passionately. "I loved our dance…" one of his hands loosened around her wrist and Christine was free to move it over his unmasked cheek. He was holding his breath as he felt her soft touch make contact; his eyes were swimming with tears of confusion, disbelief…and perhaps…hope? "And when we kissed," she murmured, her voice full with emotion as she lifted herself up onto her tip toes, tilting her head to meet his lips, "I was not pretending then either."

"NOOOOO!" Erik screamed in agony, the emotion spilling forth as he pushed her away from him. "This is not real! This is a…a trick!" he choked. "You p-p-pretended with one man…how do I know y-y-you w-w-will not pretend with me?" He seized her then, shaking her shoulders as hard as he could. "DO NOT TOY WITH ME! WHAT REASON DO YOU HAVE FOR DOING ALL THIS?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!" she shouted, gasping as the words escaped her lips.

She had said it. There was no going back now…and yet Christine did not feel dread…but the greatest sense of freedom she had ever known!

Erik stared down at her, looking extremely horrified by what he had just heard. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His voice was gone and all he could hear were her glorious words over and over again, words that he had been dreaming to hear from her for so many nights…but that he never imagined she would say. After all…she was an angel, his angel…and he was a monster.

Christine saw the confusion and the disbelief in his eyes. She could feel him drift away, feel his body try to back away from her, but she gripped the edges of his shirt tightly. "I love you Erik! I love you! I wanted you to kiss me because I love you! I came to you tonight because I feared for your safety! I do trust you; I do value everything you've shared with me! And I do all these things, because I love you!"

But Erik was backing away all the more. "Please…please Erik!" Christine begged, but he pushed her away from him, backing away even quicker. Christine crumpled to the floor, hot tears spilling from her eyes as she watched the only man she had ever loved drift away from her like a ghost from one of her novels. "ERIK!" she cried out, her hand reaching out to him, but he turned on his heel then, running as fast as he could, leaving her there to sob on the floor. "No…" she mourned, wrapping her arms around her trembling body, rocking back and forth. "NOOOO!"

Christine's screams filled the caverns all around him, but Erik didn't dare look back. He simply ran faster and faster, his legs flying through the tunnels until at last he reached his destination…the world above.

It was the middle of the night. And despite the fact that it was now the New Year, the streets were extremely quiet. Erik needed peace and quiet, but he needed to get away from the Opera House even more.

Did she mean it? Was it possible?

NO! He was a monster! A demon! She had seen his face! She knew the horrible things he had done! He even murdered another man in front of her, splattering her with that very man's blood! She was intoxicated by the champagne at the party; she was thinking of the handsome Raoul, she was going mad for living underground for so long! Any one of these reasons was good enough! She could not love him!

But oh God above, how he wanted her to.

He was not deserving of her love. He was not a creature that was meant for love! Long ago, after Marie's true character was revealed, Erik had learned that love was a sickness, a weakness that ensnared one's senses and turned them into blind blubbering fools! Marie had a promising career as a dancer! She could have been great! But she threw all that away for what she called love. And where was she now? Either lying dead in a ditch or working as a prostitute in some God-forsaken place. If that was what love did to someone, then he wanted none of it! You didn't need love to have pleasure! After all, for the right price, you could "buy" love in a manner of speaking.

The sudden familiar smell of a prostitute's cigarette invaded his nostrils. Erik turned his head and saw a woman dressed in a gaudy pink gown leaning against the wall of an ally, her face over run with paint, her lips cracked from the cold and smoke. She was not beautiful, but beauty was not what he was interested in. He needed to sate this raging beast within him and there was only one way to do so!

"You!" he hissed from the shadows. The prostitute turned her head, peering into the darkness. Erik did not have his cape or hat; he could not conceal his masked face as well as in the past.

The woman looked wary. "Who's there?" she barked, not taking one step towards the ally. "Show yourself!"

"It's me, madam," Erik simply said, not knowing if she was one he knew or not, he never really tried to know the women he fucked.

The prostitute however seemed to recognize his voice. "Oh! Oh it's you, monsieur!" she said with relief. "I can't see you very well though…"

"That doesn't matter," Erik growled. "Come, we're wasting time."

The prostitute put out her cigarette and sauntered over to the shadows. "I trust you, monsieur, you always pay us well," she grinned, stumbling here and there, the smell of alcohol extremely pungent. Obviously she had been celebrating the New Year for quite some time. "It's been quite a while, monsieur, the girls were beginning to wonder if something had happened to you?"

Erik grunted, quickly undoing his breeches. The prostitute, while she couldn't see him very well knew the sound of a man undressing. She licked her lips. "Will it be the usual, monsieur? Or are you interested in something…a little more special?"

Erik said nothing, he simply grabbed her by the waist and pinned her up against the hard cold wall of the ally. "The usual then," she grinned, her hands gripping his shoulders and hoisting herself a little higher. Erik could not ignore the foul stench that covered her, but he did not care. In fact, it was all for the better, how then would he be able to think of Christine with this wretched creature before him?

"Oh my!" she gasped, and Erik groaned as he felt her hand tighten around his painfully hard erection. "I see you're in desperate need of release," she grinned, rubbing him a little firmer.

Erik's eyes fluttered closed as the prostitute continued to run her hands over his length, but it was not her hands that were touching him…it was Christine's small soft delicate hands, holding his length, marveling at how hard he had become, all because of her, all because of his desire for her…

"Monsieur?" Erik's eyes snapped open at the prostitute's voice. "Are you alright?" she whispered. She peered closer, straining to see his face in the darkness, thinking she could see something white on the right side of his face.

"I'm fine," he grunted. "And I'll be even better once we start fucking."

The prostitute grinned and wrapped her legs around his body. But once again Erik found himself imagining Christine's legs, smooth and slender, wrapping around his body as he drove himself into her wet softness. Yes…he felt his hand being drawn to the hot moist center of Christine's thighs, and he imagined her crying out as his fingers tested her, stretched her, teased her…oh how would she respond? Would she gasp? Would she whimper? Would she scream with delight? How would her sweet honey taste on his tongue? Would it be even sweeter than her lips? How would it feel to have her breasts, bare and naked, crushed against his chest? He wondered how tight she was…had she been with a man before? No…not his Christine, she was an innocent, she was a romantic, and she would wait for the dark hero of her dreams to come to her and cover her with kisses before offering him the greatest gift a man could ever know. She would be true to this man, she would love this man; only through love would she give herself to another.

"Oh monsieur…I'm dying! Please! Do not force me to wait another second!"

"Christine…" he groaned with a ragged breath.

The prostitute eyed him suspiciously. "You want me to be 'Christine'? Alright, I'll be this woman, call me Christine, monsieur, I'll be your Christine."

Erik's eyes flew open and he stared at the woman pinned against the wall before him. Good God…what was he doing?

"Monsieur? What's wrong?"

Erik felt his erection immediately disappear with disgust at both the woman he held in his arms and the act he had been about to commit.

"Monsieur?"

He swiftly put the prostitute down on the ground, backing away from her and quickly doing up his breeches. "Take the money!" he shouted, throwing several gold coins on the ground.

The prostitute was no fool, she immediately fell to her knees, gathering the coins and placing them in her bodice. However, she had a large pout on her lips as she glanced up at the shadows before her. "Monsieur, is everything alright? I thought…monsieur? Monsieur!"

But she was alone in the ally with the darkness.

Erik was running blindly through the streets, expertly maneuvering himself in and out of dark allies and forgotten passages, feeling the harsh January winds smack against his body from all sides.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't be with another woman while thinking of Christine.

It had been for quite some time now that the only woman he dreamed about, fantasized about, the only woman he wanted or desired in any capacity…was her. But it was deeper than lust. If it were pure simple lust, he could easily have done what that prostitute had suggested, pretend she was Christine and that it was Christine he was fucking.

But Christine was not a woman a man should ever "fuck". No…she was so pure, so beautiful…she was a woman to be treasured, a woman to be…made love to. He wondered what it was like to make love…the thought alone gave birth once again to his desire.

No…this was more than lust. This was something far deeper, something far deadlier, and something that he had no control over. He had never been more afraid or more hopeful in all his life.

The snow softly began to fall over his head as he sprinted onward, his feet carrying him, flying him to an unknown destination.

* * *

Christine had never left the music chamber. She remained, huddled in a ball, her head resting on the organ stool that her beloved often occupied in this room. Of all his instruments, the pipe organ was his favorite. Christine lifted her shaking fingers to the keys, softly running their tips across them. She imagined his fingers touching the keys, playing them with expert skill, the music flowing from his heart and soul like one's blood flowed through one's veins.

"Erik…" she whispered, feeling the hot tears once again threaten to burst forth. Her cheeks were red and puffy from all the crying she had done. She had taken the risk, she had told him of her love…and he had run away.

He didn't believe her, it was obvious. He thought her enamored with the Vicomte; of all the stupid things she had ever done, dancing with that man had been one of the worst. She had thought at the time she was doing some good, but Erik was convinced that she was like all the others; he would never believe her.

She turned her face into the crook of her arm, gasping as she felt another sob escape her throat. She hugged the stool to her body, trying to absorb any warmth that it held, but it was a lost cause. It was cold, so very cold. She had never realized how cold the world felt when she was outside his arms.

"Erik…" she whimpered painfully. "Oh Erik…"

"Christine."

She froze at the sound. That voice…that beautiful, rich, deep voice…could it be? Was it possible?

Slowly, afraid that this was a dream, Christine turned her tear stained face to the entryway of the Phantom's music chamber, her heart coming to a stop, her breath catching in her throat…

He stood there, staring down at her, his amber eyes dark and intense, his chest heaving with each breath. His hair hung around his face; there were remnants of snow flakes in it, and it was slick with sweat, as was his skin. In fact, his whole body seemed covered in sweat; his shirt was clinging to his broad muscular body.

"E-e-erik?" she said shakily, hardly believing he was there. "Erik…is it you?"

She pushed herself up against the organ stool, clambering to her feet most ungracefully, but Erik was there in that next instant, his arms sweeping around her body and lifting her to her feet with expert skill.

The two stared at one another, Christine biting her lip as she looked up into his masked face, hardly knowing what to say, simply grateful that he had returned and that she had him in her arms once more. She could feel the warmth flooding through her once again.

Erik stared down at her, his eyes moving all over her face, in her hair, feeling her body come alive against his own. He dared not move, he could not. But he had to speak.

"Did you mean it?" he whispered, his voice trembling the same way her body was trembling. "What you said to me…did you mean it?"

Christine felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Yes," she whispered. "I meant every word. I love you Erik…I love you."

Erik stared at her for another fleeting moment, before uttering, "God above, have mercy."

Christine lifted her hand to his masked cheek. "I love you Erik, I love–"

All other words were lost in the hot sensation of Erik's mouth crashing down upon hers.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day we've been waiting for has arrived...

_**Inevitable** _

Was she dreaming? Was this actually happening? Had everything that had transpired this evening truly taken place?

Lord she hoped so. If not, she never wanted to wake.

Christine clung to the shoulders of her Phantom as he ravished her mouth with his. She whimpered as the kiss grew even deeper and more passionate. His tongue was exploring every corner of her mouth, tasting her, making her his own, and likewise, Christine boldly explored his mouth with her own tongue, moaning at the wonderful feel of his lips, at the glorious taste of his mouth. She wanted more, she wanted the kiss to never end, but she wanted…she needed more. She had become a greedy glutton for her Phantom.

Erik's arms tightened all the more as they kissed, he was dipping her further so that his mouth could get more and more access to her sweetness. But he knew that no matter how hard, how deeply he kissed her, it would never be as close as he wanted it to be. He needed to get closer, he wanted to feel and taste her sweetness, and he needed become one with her essence.

This was the point of no return, truly. Erik knew that upon his return, he would not be able to control himself. And yet instead of shrinking away and screaming with fear as she should have been…Christine welcomed his touch, his kiss, his passion. Her body responded as his pressed against her. He groaned as he felt her arch her back, pressing her delicious curves against his hardening flesh. Her mouth kissed him back with as much passion as a storm-swelled sea, and every motion his tongue made with hers, she too matched.

Was it possible? Could such a beautiful innocent creature want him? She had told him several times now that she loved him…but was that possible? Was it possible for an angel and a demon to fall in love?

"Erik…" she raggedly breathed as her mouth left his to catch some air.

"Christine…" he growled deep and low, the beast within him still yearning for release. Although the release it wanted was entirely different from the rage he had been feeling only a short time ago. "Christine," he growled again, and she trembled within his arms. When he looked down at her he was pleased to see that the trembling was not out of fear…but out of desire. She wanted him…God above, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her! He vowed to be a gentle lover, no matter how loud the beast within roared for release. "Christine," he breathed again. "Do you want this? I could never…I will never take you against your will…" she needed to answer him quickly though, for while he could never take her by force, he was not sure how much longer he could cling to his own sanity.

Christine's eyes fluttered wide as she realized what Erik was asking. She blushed at the memories of the nights she lay in bed, reading one of her gothic romances, and she began to imagine Erik, her dark hero, coming to her side, kissing her deeply, and making love to her most passionately. She felt her own hands drift over her body as she imagined this, touching herself very delicately, blushing all the while and wondering if what she did was a sin…but she could not help it. Surely when you loved someone it was not a sin. How could love ever be sinful?

He held his breath as watched the beautiful blush inflame her cheeks, a color which drove him wild with longing. How far did her blush stretch? He could not wait to find out, but he needed an answer. She had told him that she loved him; she had showed him that she wanted him with her kiss…but he needed to hear the words, he needed to hear her say…

"Yes Erik, please," she pleaded, gripping his shoulders, clinging to his strong arms and whimpering as she felt his hardness brush against her belly once again. "Make love to me…" she blushed as she recalled a line from his opera. "Teach me the joys of the flesh…"

A great roar of passion filled the cavern, causing them both to jump from the sound. But it had come from Erik, who now had her swept off the ground, his mouth ravishing hers once more, and his feet carrying them both to his bedchamber. This was going to happen…no more dreams, no more fantasies…tonight, the two of them would finally be together as they had yearned for so long.

Christine gasped as she felt her body make contact with the lush pillows that covered Erik's Middle-Eastern bed. She remembered how once not so long ago he had brought her to this room, laid her down, and kissed her so deeply. She also remembered what had driven them apart. Her hands were in his hair, her fingers tangled in the black sweaty strands, and she felt the tie of his mask. She wanted to kiss him freely, she wanted to remove it so that she could have even better access to his mouth, and she wanted to show him that she loved all of him.

But she did not dare touch it for fear of ruining another moment. In time Erik would learn to trust her without his mask…in time she would prove to him that his face held no horror for her. In time, she would show Erik how handsome he was, that he was not a beast, but a prince among men.

He had laid her upon the bed, but Christine was quickly on her knees, her lips still in need of his kiss. She would never tire of his kisses. Erik slowly made his way to the bed, kneeling as she was, his body still towering over hers, his lips still eagerly exploring her mouth as they continued to kiss, their hands wildly running over one another, their arms wrapping tightly about the other.

"Christine…" he groaned, his hands sliding down her back over the laces that kept her gown in place. She still wore that golden gown that took his breath away when he first saw her. She was so beautiful, and tonight, she outdid herself. "Christine," he murmured again, and she stilled for a moment as she felt his fingers slowly, but eagerly, undo the laces. She blushed deeply, her face pressed against his chest as his fingers went to work, and then slowly tilted her head upwards to look into his eyes.

Erik was gazing back down into hers as one lace became loose…followed by another. It was both his way of seducing her, as well as allowing her to retreat from him should she have any second thoughts. However, she surprised him by reaching down and untucking his shirt. He groaned as he felt her fingers slowly skim over his flesh, and Christine gasped as his own tugged at her laces. "Erik…" she moaned, her mouth parted with need, and he happily gave in, kissing her very deeply, his fingers now tugging on the rest of her laces, pulling the dress from her body. He slowed the kiss only to help her slide her arms out from the sleeves, and his breath caught as she now sat before him, in a thin chemise, corset, and stockings.

"My God…" he breathed, his eyes hungrily devouring her. Christine blushed very deeply and she suddenly felt embarrassed, moving her arms to cover herself, but Erik was faster, his hands going to her shoulders, gently holding her, and leaning his mouth to hers, kissing her again with all the love and passion he held for her in his heart. Christine went limp, her arms clinging to his as he kissed her, and she felt her body giving in, she felt herself swaying back, ready to fall against the lush softness of his bed. But before she was lost to the sensation, he reluctantly lifted his head, panting just as she was from the heavy kiss.

"Undress me," he whispered, his voice a strange mixture of a growling order and a heartfelt plea. Christine's cheeks burned at his words, her eyes looking away shyly, but with shaky fingers, she slowly went to his shirt, moving her hands under its hem, and lifted it, up and over his head and arms.

Christine stared at the Phantom's bare chest, swallowing a nervous lump in her throat. Christine hadn't seen Erik's chest since he had been shot so many months ago. It was as muscular as it was broad with a few black hairs matted at its center. Her eyes were drawn to the scar that the bullet wound had left. With tentative fingers, she reached out and ran them over the scar. Erik sucked in a breath as he felt her soft warm fingers touch his already burning skin. Christine looked up at him when she heard him make the sound, thinking she had hurt him and immediately moved her fingers away. "No, please…" he murmured, taking her hand and gently placing it over his heart. The gesture moved Christine beyond belief. She swallowed the tears of joy that were already threatening to come forth as she felt his heart beat against her fingertips.

Erik's own hands went to cup her beautiful face, and he gazed into her eyes with wonder as his own fingers threaded through the silky chocolate curls. His mouth descended once more to hers, his tongue capturing hers and dancing with it. Christine returned the kiss with just as much passion and gasped as she felt his lips move from hers, leaving a searing path down her neck and across her throat.

She moved her head to one side to allow him better access, and whimpered as she felt his teeth gently bite the delicate skin. His hands, which were already on her back, were once again undoing her laces, this time, of her corset. Christine clung to him as his fingers expertly worked to remove the corset and his lips left delicious marks all along her neck and shoulders. "Erik!" she gasped, the heat between her thighs growing hotter and hotter. Erik growled with growing hunger as the last lace came undone, and she mewed happily as she felt the corset being removed from her body and flung to one side of the room.

Without another word, Erik's hands dipped to grasp the ends of her chemise, and they both stilled for another second. She would be naked, save for the stockings and pantalets if he removed this. His eyes were locked with hers, waiting to see if she wanted him to stop. But the simple gesture of Christine lifting her arms was enough, and in one fluid motion, the chemise was removed.

_God above_ , Erik thought. For the first time since he had seen her bathing, he gazed upon her beautiful naked flesh. Christine's breasts were not small, nor were they overly large. They were perfect, as far as Erik was concerned. The perfect shape, round like two soft creamy globes, and the way her nipples, as dark and rosy as her cheeks, blossomed atop them like the daintiest of buds. His mouth was watering at the sight.

Christine loved this man, but she had never been naked before another and knew not the proper way to go about such things. Her first reaction was to quickly cover herself, but then she thought herself foolish for feeling such things, as it was very obvious to what she wanted. She wanted to make love with Erik, she wanted to be his, mind, body, and soul, just as she wanted him to be hers.

Erik saw her struggle, saw the deep blush in her cheek and the way her body shrank somewhat, and reached out with a gentle hand, touching one of hers that was resting upon her shoulder which caused her arm to drape across her breasts. "Let me see you…" he whispered, taking her hand in his and slowly bringing it away from her body.

Christine held her breath as Erik's eyes burned over her, her mouth open to say something, but no sound coming out. She was trembling, but it was not out of fear or disgust…she trembled with desire as she felt his eyes, those hypnotic amber eyes, rake across her flesh. "Erik…" she whimpered. "Erik…I…I h-have never…" she bit her lip, feeling so utterly foolish all of sudden. Erik's eyes returned to hers in that instant, and his own breath caught as he saw the love she had for him glow in their depths, as well as her innocence.

"You truly are an angel…" he whispered, his hand gently running over her cheek. Christine moaned and leaned into his touch. "My sweet, trusting angel…" he groaned, leaning in and kissing her deeply, his hands moving around her bare back and running along the creamy skin, marveling at its softness. He felt her breasts deliciously crushed against his skin and he moaned even louder. He had been right; his Christine was a lady of the purest heart. She offered him her innocence with the gift of her love, a gift that Erik did not feel worthy for. How could she do this? He was no innocent, he did not think he had ever been one…but here she was, offering her love without restriction to him. "Oh Christine," he groaned into her ear as he buried his masked face into her hair, breathing in the sweet fragrance. "I am not worthy of you."

Christine's eyes went wide at his words, and her hands went to his face, pulling it away so she could look into his eyes. "No, don't think that, I want you! I love you!" she insisted, her fingers caressing both his masked and unmasked cheeks.

"I want you too…" he groaned. "But I can not do this…you are a creature of light, of purity…and I…I'm a–"

Her hand was over his mouth. "Don't say it," she pleaded. Then, with a bold and daring move, Christine reached down and took hold of one of his large calloused hands, and placed it over her left breast, mirroring what he had done earlier when he had placed her hand over his own heart. "I love you Erik…please…please make love to me…"

It was Erik's turn to be amazed by the simple, yet beautiful gesture. He felt her heart quicken as his fingers softly caressed the sweet smooth flesh, and he thought of the love that she promised with her kisses, with her caresses, and with her innocence. He did not think he would ever be worthy of what she offered…but he was not going to ruin this moment, this beautiful heavenly moment, with any sort of blubbery. He would teach her the joys of the flesh, but he knew that he would be a student as well. He had never made love to a woman before, and he had never been with a woman in the warm softness of a bed. Perhaps he was wrong…perhaps he did, somewhere in the blackness of his soul, contain a strand of innocence that Christine was awakening for the first time with her love.

He kissed her again, deeply, passionately, but with as much gentleness as he could manage, wanting to savor this moment, wanting her to feel nothing but pleasure. His pleasure was linked to hers; this was no longer about him, he cared more for this extraordinary woman than anything else…even his own music.

Christine gasped as she felt his hand caress the flesh of her breast, and she whimpered as his fingers teased the already taut nipple. "Erik…" she breathed raggedly. He smiled at the pleasure he heard in her voice and continued his sweet ministrations, his thumb and forefinger grazing the hard pink tip, his hand cupping the perfect globe, gently squeezing the soft sweet flesh. "Please," she moaned. "Oh please, Erik…" He could deny either of them no longer. He lowered her fully down onto the bed, his lips at her throat once more, kissing her, teasing her, causing her to squirm and mew and sigh with pleasure. Her fingers tangled in his hair as his lips continued to descend, and she held her breath and went stiff for a moment when she felt his lips slide over the mound of her breast, and then cried out as his tongue lapped over the aching nipple.

"ERIK!" she cried, arching her back to his hungry mouth. Delighted by her eager responses, Erik's hands moved around her body, holding her back and locking her in the arch as his mouth continued to feast at her breast. She bit back a scream as she felt his teeth graze over her nipple before drawing it fully into his mouth and sucking on it with vigor. "Oh God! Oh God t-t-this is too much!" she moaned, gasping and sighing with pleasure as his mouth moved across to her other breast to give it the same attention.

Erik growled as he feasted upon her sweet skin, never thinking he had tasted anything finer. He was extremely eager to see if the rest of her tasted as sweet as her beautiful breasts. As his tongue laved and licked and suckled her nipples, his hands were already moving down to unlace and push away her pantalets. Christine was hardly aware that her legs were being freed from the bothersome garments until she felt Erik's hand run along her right leg.

She gasped as his fingers ran over the smooth skin and the silken stocking she still wore. The stocking went all the way up to her thigh, and she let out a long shaky breath as she felt his fingers climb higher and higher, until they reached the hem of the stocking, and began to roll it down from her leg. Inch by inch, Erik revealed more and more delicious skin, and every part of her seemed to be even softer than the other. As he finished undressing her, he imagined her slender silken legs enveloping him as he finally buried his hard aching flesh into the center of her womanhood. The thought caused his body to ache even more, and reminded him all too well that he was still well restrained.

"Christine," he rasped, reluctantly lifting his head from her breasts. She looked up at him with hazy eyes, blushing deeply at the intimacy they had been sharing and at the fact that she now lay before him completely naked. Erik's eyes caressed her as he gazed upon the beauty between her thighs. Chocolate curls also crowned this area, and he could smell the sweet aroma of desire from her body. "Christine," he groaned, taking her by the hands and lifting her up to a sitting position. "Please…help me?"

She realized what he was asking then, and blushed as he led her hands to his belt. Her fingers were shaky as she unbuckled the belt and slowly slid it off, and Erik groaned with pleasure as he felt her fingers softly brush over his flesh again. "Now…" he instructed softly. "Help me with this as well?" Christine swallowed the growing lump in her throat as she felt Erik place her hands at the hem of his breeches. She could already see the straining flesh through the tight breeches, and she blushed as she imagined the size of his…well, little was left to one's imagination by the simple outline through his breeches.

Christine's eyes met his as she slowly began to pull the breeches down. Erik's hands were at her shoulders as he kneeled on the bed before her, still managing to tower over her as she continued to peel the breeches away. He groaned and sucked in some air as he felt his cock spring to freedom from the constraining fabric that encased it. Christine stared at the hardening flesh, her face growing all the brighter with each passing second. "Erik…"

"Touch me," he commanded softly, his eyes burning with desire as she looked up at him, passion filled in her own. "Please touch me, Christine…I have yearned to feel your hands upon me for so long…"

Christine felt her heart may burst at these words. While he had not said the words to her, she did believe that perhaps…he truly loved her too. And when she gazed into his eyes, she saw the love he held for her through the fire, through the passion. She could deny him nothing.

Tentatively, her fingers moved slowly over his searing hard flesh, causing both of them to gasp at her contact. Erik's groan filled the chamber, and Christine thought her heart may stop from the shock of the feel of him. Never in all her life had she felt anything so…so unusual, really! He was both hard…and soft at the same time! The flesh was hard, like stone, but the skin felt smooth, soft, and delicate…such a contrast to Erik's hard stony personality and temperament. She marveled at the feel of him, and her fingers grew bolder, exploring him further, and he thought he would die when he felt her tiny fingers fully close around him.

"You will be the death of me," he gasped, his hand closing around her wrist. "But I would enjoy death very well if this is how it feels." He moved her hand away from his body, smiling at her reluctance, and bent his head once more to capture her sweet smooth lips.

Together, they fell to the bed; both of them naked save for Erik's mask. Christine blushed and gasped as she felt his cock rub against her belly. His hands moved over her skin, delighting in its texture, in its smoothness. Christine also let her own hands explore him, however, as they touched his back she let out a startled gasp. "Erik!" she cried, looking into his eyes with horror. Erik went still at both the movement of her hands and her cry. "Oh Erik…w-w-what happened?"

Erik sighed heavily as he felt her fingers slide over the old scars along his back. "You know the story about the carnival," he softly explained. "They forced me to do things I hated, to put my flesh on display...and when I did not 'perform' properly…or for no reason whatsoever, they took the whip out and…" his words trailed off as the horrendous memories of his childhood returned.

Christine bit her lip as he told his story and as her fingers continued to caress the scars that covered his back. Erik chuckled softly then, but it was a chuckle full of sarcasm. "My face is not the only thing that has been ravaged from life's cruelty."

Christine's fingers softly scored down his back, and Erik let out a deep groan at the sensual touch. "I love you Erik…please…don't stop…please…I want you so badly…"

He looked into her eyes, those beautiful blue pools that held so much promise and understanding. He groaned again as her fingers moved along the scars once more, and with an oath to heaven, he kissed her once more, drawing her into him, drawing upon her sweetness, wanting to absorb some of it for himself. As he kissed her, his hand which had been resting upon her hip now moved sensually across her thigh, and Christine whimpered as slowly…his fingers crept towards her center.

"ERIK!" she gasped, when one of his fingers carefully inserted itself into her dewy heat.

"Oh God, Christine!" he groaned. "You're so hot! So hot and so wet…"

Christine gasped and squirmed beneath him as his finger gently explored the womanly folds of her heat, and he carefully inserted a second finger, watching with delight as her face contorted with both shock and pleasure from the gesture. "Yes my dear…open yourself to me…" his voice was so deep and so rich, Christine melted from the seductive sound. Erik teased her flesh, gently stretching her, gently preparing her for his length. He worried about hurting her; she was so sweet and so pure, the last thing he ever wanted was to cause her any harm. Would he be too big for her? Even with his fingers he could tell how tight she was.

"Christine," he whispered. "I want to be inside you–"

"Oh Erik, I want you inside me!" she whimpered with pleasure.

He smiled at her eagerness, his own flesh throbbing at the sound. "My dear…it…it will hurt, only briefly, but…" he did not like the thought of her feeling any sort of pain. "You must promise to tell me if the pain becomes…becomes worse."

Christine looked into his eyes, her own hazy with pleasure, but she understood every word he was saying. She had heard that the first time could be most painful for women, especially if their lover was inexperienced, clumsy, or uncaring. But nothing could make her stop wanting Erik…and she wanted him even more, now more than ever before. "Erik, please…"

"I mean it Christine," he said with great seriousness. "Promise me you'll tell me…if I am hurting you, I will stop, I promise you that…but you must tell me, do you promise?"

Her eyes were swimming with tears of love. Despite the frightening character he often played with the managers and workers of the Paris Opera House, he was truly gentle, loving…a hero out of a fairytale. "I promise," she vowed, happy to see him smile with relief.

"I will be as gentle as possible," he assured, his mouth moving once more over hers and kissing her deeply, his tongue tangling with her own as his fingers once again explored the sweet hot folds of her heat. Christine groaned against his mouth and arched her hips to his hand, her body coming alive even more. Erik's thumb moved to tease her clitoris, and Christine let out a passionate scream which was lost in his mouth.

"I'll remember that," he growled, grinning down at her as once more his thumb brushed her clit.

"Oh God…Erik!" she cried, her nails digging into his shoulders. He smiled, and then moved his body over hers, covering her with his great weight, lowering himself over her creamy skin, being careful not to crush her. Christine felt his cock slide from along her thigh, and she held her breath, as the tip slowly teased the wet entrance of her heat. "Yes…please…please Erik," she gasped, needing him, wanting him so badly.

Erik held his breath as he slid the tip of his cock into her body, gasping at the extreme heat that she radiated. Christine moaned as she felt him slowly begin to fill the space between her thighs. She looked up at him, a part of her trembling, but her eyes told him that she wanted this, that this WAS the point of no return for them.

Erik growled and bent his head once more, capturing her mouth and kissing her deeply as with one smooth, quick thrust…he was fully inside her body.

"MMMMMMM!" Christine gasped against his lips as a shock of pain rocked through her body.

Erik threw his head back and roared at the feel of her hot, soft, tight flesh, encasing his pulsing hardness. "Christine! Ooooohhh Christine…" he groaned, his head falling into the crook of her neck, gasping for air as the two of them lay there, adjusting to the sensation of being fully joined in body and spirit.

"Erik…" she whimpered. "Oh Erik…"

He lifted his head, seeing the discomfort on her face. "I'm hurting you, aren't I?"

Christine bit her lip as the strange and somewhat painful sensation continued to throb within her. "It's just…you're very large…a-a-and I…I'm…"

"Your body will grow accustomed, with time," he reassured, his lips gently raining kisses across her brow and over her eyes. "I promise you…it will feel better, it will," he looked into her eyes, his own swimming with self-hatred for causing her pain. "Do you want me to stop?" he gently asked.

Christine looked deeply into his eyes, seeing her love for him reflected in their amber depths. "No," she quickly said for fear he may move away. "No…don't ever stop…I trust you Erik, I believe you…please…show me this pleasure…I want to feel it, I want to know it with you…"

He looked at this extraordinary woman with utter amazement. What had he done to deserve her? To deserve her love? "Christine…oh Christine…" he murmured, and then, with great care, fighting the urge to lose himself within her tight softness, he began to slowly move within her, his body thrusting as gently as he could, gritting his teeth and gasping for air with each movement. She was so tight! So soft and so hot! This was beyond anything he had ever known.

Christine gasped with him as she felt his body slowly move and surge within hers. At first, the pain did not seem to lesson…but slowly, a new ache, one that caused her body to tingle and throb, took over. He moved within her, gently, but deeper, and she felt the pressure building between them. As if instinctively, Christine's legs moved to wrap around his body, to draw him closer, and she gasped as she felt him move even deeper. Good God, they were so close…they were one being in this exquisite moment.

"Oooh Erik," she moaned as she lifted her hips to receive his thrusts, her fingers scoring across his shoulders and back, feeling the beads of sweat slide under her touch. "Oh Erik…it…it doesn't hurt anymore…" she moaned. "I can feel you…so deep inside…"

Erik grunted to her words, all manner of speech being taken from him. He could feel himself growing closer and closer to the pinnacle. He groaned as her legs wrapped tightly around his body, the sensual image that he had been imagining for so long, coming true at last. Her body was moving with his, she was gripping him closer, drawing him in deeper. She was moaning with pleasure, she was enjoying the feel of his body! He could not help it, he quickened his motions, moving deeper and faster, groaning as he felt his release in sight, but wanting her to feel her own as well. He could not experience this pleasure alone; he needed her to be carried through it with him.

One of his hands bent down between their bodies, and Christine's eyes went wide as she felt his thumb once again brush over the sensitive nub at the crowning point between her thighs. "ERIK!" she cried out, trembling from his touch. "Oooh God, Erik…Erik…I…I feel…" she gripped him even harder, her face buried against his shoulder as he continued to sweetly torture her.

"Yesssss…" he hissed, as he felt her body begin to convulse beneath him. "Let it happen…let it happen…"

Christine gripped his shoulders, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open as a strange and wonderful sensation exploded throughout her body, from the tips of her toes to the strands of her hair! "ERIK!" she screamed, her head thrown back against the pillows as the feeling took her, causing the muscles in her body to squeeze and tighten all around him.

Erik thrusted himself harder and deeper into her body as he felt her orgasm begin to take her, and he threw back his head and released a mighty roar that filled the whole cavern and the tunnels beyond as his own pleasure seized him. He surged into Christine one last time, trembling and crying out in happiness before collapsing against her, his face buried in her hair.

The two of them panted deeply, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in time with each other. They did not move apart, they continued to cling to one another as the last of their trembling ceased. "Christine…" he breathed, kissing the damp strands of her hair. "Oh Christine..." he moaned, his arms tightening and holding her even closer than before, never ever wanting to let her go. _I love you_ , his heart screamed.

Christine purred softly as she felt him clutch her close, her own arms clinging tightly to him. Her face was buried against his chest, and she softly moaned as her exhausted body relaxed its muscles.

"Erik…" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you…"

It wasn't anything like she had expected…it was better. Never; never had she felt anything so…

Wonderful. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

_**Awakening** _

_She had returned to him, the angel of his dreams. She beckoned him close, her arms outstretched, promising warmth in his darkness, and love in his loneliness. As he approached her, he noticed the golden gown that she wore, and her hair sparkled with golden jewels. He was transfixed, he could not deny either of them, and he went willingly into her arms, losing himself within her, moaning her name as her softness enveloped him…_

Erik awoke from the dazzling dream then, gulping in air as if he had been underwater. His body was trembling and the air was cold. His skin was slick with perspiration, no doubt from his dream. He closed his eyes briefly, groaning as he once again came crashing back to reality. Gone was his angel…once more he was awake, once more he was alone…

Wait. Something was different.

There was an unusual weight upon his right arm…in fact he could not even move the arm! And something…something tickled his chin…

He looked down and saw several brown curls that appeared to be the source. How on earth did they…

A sleepy groan arose from the chamber and Erik knew it did not belong to him. His eyes went wide as he looked down at his side where his arm was outstretched. There, snuggled in the crook of his arm, her beautiful head pillowed against him, lay his angel, sleeping peacefully with a lovely smile.

Erik's face paled at the sight. He lay frozen as Christine sleepily moaned again, shifting her body this time, moving in closer to him.

What was she doing here?

He felt his breath catch as he realized…the two of them were naked, her body curled into a ball beside his. Good God…had…had they…?

He remembered. It wasn't a dream…she was here, sleeping beside him, beautiful and naked. He didn't know if he should rejoice with happiness or run with dread. What had he done?

Christine shivered and once again he felt the cold air hit his flesh. He gently lifted her head, gazing in wonder at her beautiful sleeping face, before carefully removing his arm. He then reached down and pulled a warm thick blanket over her body, watching as she buried her face into the pillow, drawing the blanket's warmth around her.

 _At least she will not freeze,_ he thought. He quickly rose from the bed, his eyes spying the remnants of their clothes on the floor. Instead, he reached for a black and gold dressing gown that he had strewn across the back of a chair in the corner of the room. He quickly put it on and retreated to his music chamber, stumbling as he went, his legs barely carrying him.

It had happened. The memories came crashing back like a great tidal wave. He remembered the ball, he remembered her arriving in a golden gown, and he remembered the two of them dancing. He also remembered being extremely annoyed with her arrival, and the two of them having a most passionate argument. However…the argument changed; somewhere in the middle of their shouting, they began to give in to their overriding desires. Somewhere in the midst of their argument…she confessed her feelings for him.

"She loves me…" he whispered, the word causing his voice to tremble. Was it possible? Could such a creature love…love him? HIM? "So many things happened last night," he groaned, collapsing upon the organ stool, his head falling into his hands. He remembered running from her, retreating into the night and searching for something. He remembered with great disgust the prostitute he had found, thinking that she was the thing he was searching for, a moment's pleasure to take away his frustrations, to make him forget Christine's blue eyes, Christine's voice, Christine's spirit! He needed to escape…

"But I couldn't do it…" he groaned softly, his head lifting to stare at a piece of parchment he had been writing notes upon for the last several days. "I'm doomed," he groaned. "I…I can't stop thinking about her, I can't stop dreaming about her…" his hands braced himself against the organ, his eyes burning the parchment with his gaze.

Written at the top were the simple words "Christine's Song".

"She has bewitched me," he whispered. "I will never want for another, but…but she's so beautiful! How...how...?" his voice growled, the beast within rising. "Damn her! Damn her eyes!" he growled, visions of passion-filled sapphires filling his head. "Damn her sweetness! Damn her beauty! Damn her angelic soul!" he growled loudly, pushing himself away from the organ and pacing like a crazed caged tiger across the chamber.

"It's impossible! She's so pure–well, was pure until I stole that from her!" he cursed. "She's so lovely…and I'm…I'm…" his gaze caught something in the corner of the chamber. Erik made it a habit to not keep mirrors; he despised them, there was no purpose for them whatsoever. But his reflection was caught in the glass case of an old clock that he had near the piano at the far side of his music chamber. Even though he wore a mask to conceal his horrific face it still reminded him of his marred flesh, of the murderous monster within. "AAAAAAAAAHHH!" he roared, filling the cavern with the sound as he grabbed hold of a marble bust with both hands, lifted it over his head and hurled it as far as he could against the clock, shattering the glass as well as breaking the mechanisms.

Christine awoke with a start at the sound of the noise. Where was she? This wasn't her chamber! She looked frantically around, and then…she remembered.

She was naked. She was in the Phantom's chamber, in his bed! And…she was alone.

"Oh God…" she whispered, blushing brightly as memories from the previous night flooded back.

"Yes, you may wish to begin offering up prayers of repentance," Erik growled from the entryway, his broad body filling it completely. "Sorry to wake you, my dear," he added, before stepping fully into the chamber.

Christine stared at him, her mind still overcoming the shock of the situation. They had…truly, they had…

The blush of her cheeks spread so far that Erik swore she would glow if he blew out the candles in his chamber.

He couldn't help but chuckle with amusement at the way she was behaving, clutching the blanket tightly around her body, pulling it all the way up to her chin. She watched him with large wary eyes, her skin burning to the touch, as Erik crossed the room to a corner where he proceeded to pour himself a drink. "Well, I think it's safe to say that we've entered what is known as the 'awkward morning after' moment. Care for anything?" he asked as he put the stopper back onto the bottle. "I don't believe it's too early in the day to get drunk, do you?" he asked before downing the contents of his glass.

Christine's eyes narrowed at his behavior. "That is your answer…to get drunk?"

Erik poured himself another glass. "Perhaps…what is the question exactly?"

Christine scowled at him. "Why are you acting like this?" she asked, a part of her wanting to rise from the bed and remove the glass from his fist, but the other part of her reminding her once more that she was naked.

Erik couldn't help but chuckle, a sound that made Christine's scowl grow even further. "How should I act Christine? Tell me please…perhaps your novels can help us find an answer."

"Don't patronize me Erik," she hissed.

"On the contrary my dear, I'm treating you like an equal! I figured since you're well versed in romance due to the content of your books, not to mention the simple fact that you don't look like this," he indicated to his masked face, "that you would know the proper things a man and woman should say or how they should behave after a night of passion."

Christine blushed deeply at his words, but she did not like his tone. "Do not mock what we did!" she hissed. What had happened to him? Last night he had been so tender, so loving when they were in each other's arms. Why was he being so sarcastic? So dispassionate now?

"I'm not mocking it," he said with extreme seriousness, his hand placing the recently poured drink down, not being able to finish it out of respect for her. "I'm merely curious as to why you're looking to me for answers on what happens next. After all, I won't deny that this is an entirely new experience for me as well."

Christine blushed and clutched the blankets even closer. "But…but I thought…" her words trailed off as she remembered how they had made love, the way he guided her, the way he touched her, the way he showed her passion.

Erik saw the confusion written across her face and sighed heavily. "I'm not a eunuch Christine; I am human, despite my face."

Hot jealousy suddenly boiled through her. "Well, I'm glad I was able to help you with your…'human needs'," she muttered sarcastically. "Forgive me for misjudging your masculinity, after all, what do I know, I'm just a simple-minded country chit!" she spat angrily, sniffing back the hot tears that threatened to fall. "Now if you will please hand me my clothes, I will be gone from your presence–"

Christine had every intention of leaving, even if it meant she left with the blanket wrapped around her and her clothes remaining on his chamber floor! However, before she could even put one foot on the floor, Erik was there on the bed, his strong muscular hands seizing her by the shoulders. Christine gasped as she stared up at him, the wild look in his eyes causing her heart to stop.

"You are not going anywhere until you explain yourself, mademoiselle," he growled. The confused expression on her face only caused his frustration to grow. "You must however forgive me, my dear, if the situation does strike me as…surreal, shall we say."

Christine's brow furrowed with even more confusion. "Surreal?"

"Yes!" Erik growled loudly, his hands loosening somewhat on her shoulders, not ever wanting to hurt her, but his eyes continuing to burn into hers. "After all, you did give yourself freely and willingly to the infamous Phantom of the Opera…are you sure you weren't drunk on champagne last night?"

Christine let out an exasperated cry, wriggling against his grip for one of the pillows that lay beside her, wanting to beat him over the head with it! "Have you so easily forgotten?" she shouted. "Or is it that you refuse to believe me when I tell you that I lo–"

"STOP!" he shouted, his hand moving over her mouth. "Don't say it…" he growled, dangerously deep.

Christine's eyes widened as realization came to her and she pushed his hand away. "This isn't about me…it's about you," she whispered. Erik stared at her with confusion, but before he could speak she quickly continued. "You refuse to believe that anyone could love you…that you're unworthy of love, that you're incapable of it."

"Am I?" he demanded, moving away from her and holding his arms out from his body. "Honestly Christine…you know of the things that I've done, you've SEEN me do them! Do you honestly believe it is capable for a man one minute to murder someone in cold blood…and then swear undying everlasting love…?" he was staring deeply into her eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily. Despite the coldness in his voice, Christine could read his eyes and see desperation within them, a longing for acceptance, for compassion, and for love.

"I believe that God forgives those who honestly repent and work to do good," she strongly stated. "And you have done good Erik…I've seen the good that you've done, I've felt it."

"Save me your sermons," he grumbled, pushing himself off the bed and away from her. Christine stared at his back with great puzzlement. She opened her mouth to speak, but Erik stopped her with his words. "I don't understand how you can even…say such a thing?" He turned on her then and Christine gasped when she saw tears glistening in his eyes.

"It's true," she implored.

"Like hell!" he spat. "You of all people know the evil I do! You've been prey to it!" he turned his head, ashamed to look into her angelic eyes. Gone was the cynicism; his barriers were falling and a great vulnerability surfacing. "I've had the opportunities to show mercy, and I chose murder instead. I pay women to satisfy my carnal lusts! I have purposely caused men to go mad! And now, I seem to have developed a new sinful habit…kidnapping innocent girls and stealing their virginity!"

"You also protect those who are helpless!" Christine shouted, her hand stretched in the direction of the chamber that the others occupied. "And you saved my life! You stopped those men from–"

"Have you forgotten the cruelty I inflicted upon your father?"

"OF COURSE NOT! I REMEMBER IT EVERY DAY!" Christine screamed in frustration, gasping and covering her mouth with her hand after the words echoed off the chamber walls.

Erik sighed, a sad painful sigh, however he appeared satisfied that his point had been made. "I told you once Christine…this is no fairy tale. Just because you've kissed the beast and told him that you love him…he still remains what he is. I am no prince and never will be." He turned then, as if to leave, but Christine, who was trembling with a new found rage, rose from the bed, not caring that she was naked, and threw a pillow at his head as hard as she could.

Erik whirled around after the pillow struck him, his eyes wide both at her reaction, as well as the fact that she stood before him, glorious and naked, scowling most disdainfully. "What you did to my father was horrible, I will not deny that," she hissed. "Every day I wonder what has become of him…is he alive? Is he hurt? Is he getting enough to eat?" the tears were pouring down her cheeks and Christine's arms moved to wrap around her naked form. Erik felt his heart breaking at the sight. "But…" she whimpered. "You were not the man you are now…"

Erik barely breathed. "What man am I then?"

"A good man!" she declared. "A man who provides, protects, and cares for his family. You didn't have to save them when you saved yourself, but you did! And the night you saved my life…you may have only pursued me in order to protect the others, but you did save my life, you did stop those men from raping me! And…and you taught me to sing…" Christine whispered, coming towards him, her hand extended to touch his unmasked cheek. "You believed in my talents, you gave me courage to see my dreams take flight, you showed me your world, you gave me your trust, and you shared yourself in every way with me–"

Erik stopped her hand mere inches from touching his face, but his eyes no longer held any cruel humor or disdainful cynicism. Instead, she saw hope within them, hope that yearned for freedom behind a cloud of disbelief. "Why Christine…?" his voice was barely above a whisper, and Christine felt his hand tremble against hers. His disbelief was crackling. "After everything…w-w-why…?"

Christine felt the cold air hit her tear-stained face but she did not flinch from it, and rather than retreat, she moved her hand behind his grip and softly made contact with his face. He groaned as he felt her feather light caress against his unmarred skin, his own eyes betraying him as tears began to seep from their brim. Christine gave a soft smile through her tears at the sound, and then, as she had done on that magical Christmas, leaned up on the tips of her toes, both her hands lovingly holding his face, to brush her lips against his…

"Wait," Erik stopped her, his hands going to her shoulders and gently pushing her back. Christine gazed up at him, fear written across her face that he would reject her again, but much to her shock, Erik scooped her up and quickly carried her to the bed, hastily placing her under the lush warm Persian blankets that adorned it. A happy smile was lit across her face as she thought perhaps he was rejoining her, but it was quickly erased by another look of confusion as he moved away, only a few inches, pacing slightly, glancing at her now and then and looking rather nervous.

"Erik, w-w-what is it?" she asked, concern etched across her lovely features.

"There's something you should know," he muttered, his pacing finally coming to a stop before facing her. He swore his heart stood still as he saw the worry in her beautiful blue eyes. "Please," he pleaded, coming to her side on bended knee, his masked face looking up at hers. "Do not fret, it's nothing bad, it's just…" he sighed, turning his eyes away. "I do not wish to raise your hopes, but…I need to tell you...that I've been trying to discover the whereabouts of your father."

Christine's world came to a halt. She stared at the man who knelt before her, his black hair the only thing she could see of him, and yet in that very moment she could be blind, it would not matter. It was the words he had spoken to her that were ringing over and over in her head. "W-w-w-what?" she stammered softly.

Erik turned and looked up at her, his eyes locking with hers, the tears in their beautiful blue depths reflecting the ocean after a storm. "The others, as well as myself…have been trying to find out all we can on where your father might be. I'm sorry to say that we haven't learned anything, but…after that night on the rooftops…after seeing you cry…I…I had to do something, if anything, it's the most I can do for you Christine, perhaps the only thing I can give you, but–"

His speech was cut off by the sudden impact of Christine's lips upon his.

She literally took his breath away, her small soft hands clasping his face, and her even softer, sweet lips, locking against his own. For several blind moments Erik knew not what to do! This was the last reaction he had expected, he thought surely she would be reminded of the horror he had inflicted upon both she and her father, that she would want to be as far from him as possible, but this?

However, Christine's kiss was extremely intoxicating and Erik quickly found himself kissing her back. It wasn't until he realized she was practically falling out of the bed that he drew away from her.

"Silly girl, you'll catch your death!" he scolded, pushing her back into the bed and tightly wrapping the blankets around her. However Christine kept trying to catch him, trying to pull him against her, trying to kiss him! What had he done to deserve such affection? What had he done to deserve such an angel?

"Oh Erik," Christine sobbed, although she was crying out of pure happiness at his news. "How…how…" she choked between sobs. "How can you even…even think that…that you possess no goodness…after this?" she smiled up at him through her tears.

He wanted to believe her, so desperately, but even now as his heart warmed at her words and at the happiness he could see in her tear filled eyes, he doubted himself. "It is all I can give you Christine," he whispered, forcing himself to look away from his angel's face. "I wish I could do more…I wish I could give you your father–"

"You've given me hope, Erik," Christine exclaimed, grasping his hand in hers in another attempt to draw him to her.

"Have I? If it is false hope, will you still look at me as you do now?" he asked, his eyes locking once more with hers. "Will you still love me?" this question was barely a whisper, and Erik was not sure he wanted to know the answer. She loved him. SHE LOVED HIM! But after everything…did he deserve it?

Christine took his hand and placed it over her heart. Erik groaned softly as he felt the beat beneath his fingers, and he stopped breathing as her other hand reached up and touched his masked cheek. "I will always love you…" she vowed, before leaning up, and pressing her silken lips to the cold shield that hid his disfigurement from the world. "Always."

Erik could not stop the tears; they flowed freely from his eyes. The icy reserve that encased his heart had truly melted, and with a mighty cry, his arms enfolded her body and he crushed her against him. "Oh God…Oh God…" he groaned, his face buried within the curls of her hair. "God I love you…I love you…" he sobbed, his arms clutching her even tighter, rocking himself against her as he felt her soft tiny fingers thread through his black mane.

Christine's heart leapt with joy at the sound of the words she longed to hear, the words she had dreamt about him saying to her for weeks, perhaps months now. Her love for him had been growing with each passing day, she wasn't sure when it had begun, but she knew without any doubt that this man, this wonderful man who had saved her life countless times, who had shared with her his deepest secrets, and who now, without her asking, was seeking out her father…she could not imagine her life with any other.

"Erik," she whimpered, gasping with happiness, but which he mistook as squeezing her too hard, for he instantly loosened his grip on her.

"Did I hurt you, angel?" he asked, his eyes filled with worry as he looked upon her lovely face.

But Christine's smile told him it wasn't so. He had never seen her face glow more radiantly than this very morning. He had been wrong; when he saw her the night before, dressed in gold, he thought she couldn't be more beautiful. But now…adorned only in a Persian blanket and a loving glow…she had surpassed that gown ten times.

"Say it again," she whispered, her hands clutching at the shoulders of his dressing gown as she drew him down atop her, her mouth open and her heart racing with excitement.

Erik smiled and felt the passion within his body rise again. "I love you, Christine," he growled. "I love you more than music."

Christine gave a cry of happiness before lifting her head off the pillow to meet his hungry mouth, which eagerly kissed her back, his tongue diving once more into her sweet depths while his hands slid over her writhing body, eager once more to feel the softness of her skin, to touch the delicious mounds of her breasts, and to lose himself in the damp heat between her thighs. Christine pushed the dressing gown away from his shoulders, and Erik quickly shrugged it off before diving under the blankets with her, his body instantly entwining with hers, his painfully hard cock rubbing against her inner thigh, yearning once more to be encased in the silk of her body.

"Christine…" he growled against her mouth, groaning as he felt her body arching up against his. "Oh God…God how I want you…"

"Yes," she panted, as she felt his fingers parting her nether lips and dipping into her hot damp sex. She responded by wrapping her legs around his waist. "Please…please make love to me Erik…please…I need you so much…"

"Yes…yes…YES!" he roared, before plunging his body into hers. They both cried at the contact, Christine still shocked by the strange, yet exquisite feeling of this void within her being filled with his being, and Erik still amazed at her tight softness.

Others may think him a monster, and even he felt he looked like a demon from hell, but by becoming one with the woman he loved…nothing could be closer to heaven.

Together they soared through the pleasure their love had created; they soared past the world around them, beyond the opera house, beyond heaven, to a place where the sweetest music was played, where masks were not needed. In the throes of ecstasy they screamed their love, both to each other, and to the world. And as they trembled in the beautiful aftermath, they clung to one another, never wanting to let go, never wanting the dream to end.

* * *

Raoul pushed through the doors of the police station with a stern and unpleasant look upon his handsome features.

Inspector LeDue was surprised at the Vicomte's arrival, thinking the handsome nobleman would be "recovering" from a night of New Year's festivities. "Monsieur!" he greeted warmly, although the warmth quickly faded by the deadly glare the Vicomte shot at him. "H-h-how may I…be of service?"

Raoul's stare never left LeDue's face. "Take me to Daae…now."

The coldness of Raoul's voice chilled LeDue's heart, but he did not stop to question the nobleman, he quickly took his keys and led Raoul to where Daae's cell lay. The old man was sleeping on his cot, the thin blanket wrapped tightly around his lean brittle body. "Daae!" LeDue bellowed, rattling his keys against the iron bars of the cell, causing the poor old man to awake with a start. "The Vicomte de Chagny is here to see you," he reported sternly.

"Thank you, Chief Inspector," Raoul said. "Now, kindly leave us."

LeDue glanced back and forth between the Vicomte and the old man, not sure if leaving would be a wise choice given the Vicomte's present state. However, he bowed his head and left the two to speak in private.  
Daae was still getting over the shock of being woken up, but as soon as his old eyes focused on the handsome face of Raoul, he felt a smile spread across his grizzled face. "Oh monsieur…you're back! Oh I pray that you bring good news!"

"I'm afraid not," Raoul said through clipped lips. "I have seen your daughter, Monsieur Daae," Raoul explained, ignoring the hope that lit the old man's face. "But it is as we feared…she is still in the clutches of the villainous Phantom."

Like that, Daae's face fell and he gripped the hard iron bars of his cell to keep him steady. "Oh God above have mercy," he whispered, crossing himself and kissing his fingers.

Raoul rolled his eyes. "I believe she was trying to escape him," Raoul quickly explained. "Last night there was a great masquerade ball at the Opera House. It was meant to be a trap to lure the Phantom, however…" he grimaced as he recalled the events of the previous night and felt his hands clench into fists of rage at the way the Phantom had humiliated him in front of all of Paris. "…I was not prepared to see your daughter there," he continued. "Like everyone else, she too was masked, a disguise so that she could escape his evil clutches, and escape she would, if I had been able to get her away before…" his jaw clenched at the memory of the Phantom pulling Christine from him and dancing with her. "The cursed monster spotted her through the throng and carried her off."

"Oh my poor child!" Daae wailed, one hand clamping over his mouth in shock. "Oh curse that fiend! Oh my poor Christine…" he whimpered, the tears already spilling down his cheeks.

"Please!" Raoul snapped, slamming his fist against the bars, the sound of Daae's dog-like whimpers fraying his last nerve. Daae jumped at the action, but Raoul quickly composed himself. "Forgive me…I too am angered by this masked villain."

Daae nodded his head, however he moved away from the cell, his eyes warily watching the Vicomte. "I thank you for all that you have done and are doing, monsieur," he whispered.

Raoul however was nowhere near ready to part ways yet. "Listen to me monsieur, and listen closely," he hissed, leaning close to the cell bars. "I need you to tell me everything you can about the Phantom from the brief time you were in his presence."

Daae stared up at the Vicomte with both shock and confusion. "I…I have already told you everything I can remember monsieur…"

"Tell me more!" Raoul demanded. "Everything! I need details ,Monsieur Daae, every last detail! What was it like when you went through the trap door? Where did he take you? Tell me about these 'minions' you say he has? What was he wearing? Tell me about his face–YES HIS FACE!" Raoul practically roared when Daae shuddered at the memory. "I need to know everything, I can't make this clear enough!"

Daae stared up at the Vicomte, the nobleman's eyes glowing with an odd madness in their green depths. "F-f-forgive me," he stuttered before swallowing the uncomfortable lump in his throat. "But…how…how will this help?"

Raoul straightened himself and smoothed his hands over his coat. "You were right, Monsieur Daae; the Phantom of the Opera is no ghost, despite what he wants others to believe. Evil he may be, but when you strip away the demonic layers, he is what he is. And that, monsieur, is a great advantage to us."

"How?" Daae whispered.

Raoul sighed and looked at the shadows that filled one corner of Daae's small prison cell. "When you know everything you can about your enemy, you gain an upper hand. The Phantom of the Opera is a man…and all men have weaknesses."


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Christine continue to bask in the bliss of their new found love, but danger lurks in the nearby shadows... (WARNING: this is my "smut" chapter and it is rather graphic. Proceed with caution).

_**Bliss** _

_"Past the point of no return…no backward glances," Erik softly sang in Christine's ear, his lips teasing the delicate lobe. "The games we've played till now are at an end…"_

_Christine whimpered as she felt his hands play along her body, stroking the fires of desire once more. "Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'–no use resisting," he growled, before moving his weight over her body. "Abandon thought, and let the dream descend…" he growled, gasping as he entered her body once more, his hardness once more plunging into her silken sheath._

_"What raging fire shall flood the soul?" he groaned, his hands gripping her thighs to wrap around his body. "What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us…?" he sighed, thrusting in and out of her sweet warmth, Christine's head thrown back in pleasure as they continued to passionately make love._

"Christine?"

The young woman jumped as her day dreams were interrupted by the sound of Suzette's voice.

Christine's face was extremely flushed, her chest was rising and falling at a somewhat rapid pace, and she bit her lip with worry at the perspiration that one may notice on her brow. "My dear…are you all right?" Suzette asked, lifting one gray brow in speculation. "You do seem to be breathing rather hard…"

"I'm fine!" Christine practically squeaked, quickly clearing her throat and giving Suzette a rather nervous smile. "I'm fine, thank you," she murmured, before looking away from the other woman's questioning eyes and focusing once more on the knitting in her lap.

Suzette's brow furrowed at Christine's change in behavior. All week the girl had been behaving strangely. Ever since the night Christine had gone above, things were different. Suzette could not forget how the two of them had returned, Christine screaming at the Master while he carried her over his shoulder. She was worried for Christine, not that she believed the Master would harm the girl, but she knew of Christine's feelings for the Master, and worried that the poor girl's heart would be torn in two.

However, as the days passed since that night, Suzette did not see much of Christine. And when she did come upon the girl, Christine was always humming or smiling, her eyes looking far off in the distance. Something was on the girl's mind, and that same something was still there.

"So are you going to tell me?" Suzette asked, calmly threading her needle and eyeing Christine closely.

Christine practically jumped at the question. "T-t-tell?" she stuttered, before coughing, as if she were clearing her throat.

Suzette could not help but grin slightly. "Yes my dear, after all, we haven't had much of an opportunity to talk since…well, since New Year's Eve."

Christine blushed slightly but continued to look down at her knitting. "Yes, I'm sorry…I've been very…busy, with…rehearsals."

Christine inwardly groaned at herself. She was the worst liar in the world.

"Rehearsals?" Suzette repeated, the tone of her voice obvious and disbelieving, however she didn't press the issue further.

For a long while the two sat in a rather uncomfortable silence, at least uncomfortable for Christine. She knew Suzette was examining her and trying to put the puzzle pieces together. A part of Christine didn't know why she hadn't told the others. After all, it was no secret about her feelings for Erik; they all knew that she was head over heels in love with their master. However, Christine could not help but grin. She rather liked having a secret that was hers and Erik's alone. She believed that the others would be happy for her, especially Suzette, however Christine was unsure exactly how to announce it. Perhaps Erik should be the one to tell them? Perhaps he preferred that they not know? Christine deeply blushed; there was no need to tell them the details, of course. She could only imagine the scolding she would receive from Gustave if knew what was going on in the Phantom's chamber.

"Christine?"

Christine glanced up from her knitting and felt her face flush again as she realized that, once more, she had not been listening. Suzette smiled tenderly, but did look somewhat concerned. "You do seem to be daydreaming more frequently than before," she said with a cluck of the tongue. "What is it that consumes your thoughts so?"

Christine's red cheeks only turned redder. "I…w-well…that is…" what should she say? It was silly keeping this a secret, she should tell the others!

"Is it about that night?" Suzette further inquired, watching Christine's face closely.

"W-w-w-what?" Christine practically choked on the nervous lump in her throat.

"The night you and the Master returned! I must say…I've never seen him more infuriated," Suzette shivered. "What did he say? What happened?"

Christine opened her mouth but no words came out. Should she tell her? Tell Suzette that both she and Erik had confessed their feelings for one another and that Erik was as much in love with her as she was with him? She wanted to shout to the world her love! And felt she could freely do so now that he knew and had not turned her away! But it didn't feel right to reveal everything without Erik present. After all, these people were his family long before they became a part of hers.

"Well?" Suzette asked, leaning close and looking into Christine's eyes for answers. Christine continued to stare back at the tiny woman with flushed cheeks and an open mouth, unsure what to say or do–

"You're late."

Christine's mouth closed and both she and Suzette turned their heads to see Erik standing before them, wrapped in shadow, his broad shoulders filling the entryway of the chamber, and his amber eyes fixed on Christine's face.

"Your lesson began ten minutes ago."

Everything he did, even standing as still as he was and looking at her the way he was…everything he did was predatory. It was easy to see how the Phantom had received his reputation for being a menacing spirit. Yet for Christine, she felt her blood boil and her heart race at the sensual sight of him. Lord, what this man did to her.

Suzette was alarmed at Erik's sudden presence, and even more so at his cool crisp tone. "Oh Master, do not be hard on her, she was helping me as you see, with the mending–"

"She knows better than to be late for a music lesson," Erik cut in, his tone unchanging, his eyes never leaving Christine's.

Suzette bit her lip and began to wonder if the two of them were still fighting since the night of the ball. However, as she glanced at Christine and then back at Erik, she could have sworn lightning was passing between the two the way they gazed at one another. What was going on between them?

"Are you going to sit there and waste more of our time?" Erik sighed, folding his arms across his chest and cocking his head to one side, his gaze never faltering.

Christine blushed deeply at his words, her eyes narrowing somewhat, but she rose to her feet and gently placed the mending down. "I'll return to help later, Suzette," she promised the old woman, before turning towards Erik and walking passed him with her head held high. Erik could not help but give a wry grin at her behavior.

He turned to follow, but Suzette rushed towards him, her tiny hand grasping his. "Please be kind, Master," she pleaded. "She's a good girl, you know that." Indeed, he did. However the way he knew Christine was far different than the way Suzette was referring. "One should never be punished for displaying kindness."

Erik cocked an eyebrow at her words. "Even when kindness interferes with punctuality?"

Suzette released his hand as if she had been burnt, however it was more from the cold shock of his words. "What has happened to you Master? You are so…different…" the tiny woman was backing away, hugging the thin shawl she wore about her shoulders even tighter.

Erik sighed and knelt before his friend. "I am still the man I have always been…" he lied. "And you know of my strictness when it comes to music," to this he was telling the truth. "But rest assured, I will be…kind…to Mademoiselle Daae." He never realized how many meanings the word "kind" could have till now. Without another word, he rose to his full height and exited the chamber, vanishing into the shadows after Christine.

Suzette stared at the Master's retreating figure, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Strange," she muttered to herself.

"What's strange?" Jacque barked, emerging from the other entrance to the chamber at the opposite end. Gustave and Rudolph followed, the hunchback giggling as Carman, the black kitten, mewed from his shoulder.

"Rudolph you shouldn't tease her like that," Suzette scolded as she eyed the tiny ball of black fur scrambling to stay aloft on the mighty hunchback's shoulder.

"She l-l-l-likes it!" Rudolph defended, scooping the kitten up and placing her on the ground, to which she immediately leapt at his leg, holding fast to the fabric of his trousers in an attempt to climb back onto his shoulder. "S-s-see?"

Suzette rolled her eyes. "I'm going to be mending more holes in your clothes than ever before."

Jacque, who had collapsed upon the heap of old mattresses that was his bed, asked again, "what's strange?"

Suzette sighed and returned to her mending. "Just…the Master's behavior, that's all."

Gustave's brow furrowed at her words. "I haven't noticed anything different…other than his renewed enthusiasm towards teaching."

Suzette shook her head. "No, it's more than that. Christine's different too. She daydreams more…"

"She's a young woman," Gustave reasoned. "They are prone to daydream."

"How would you know?" Jacque groaned. "You grew up with monks! She's the first young woman you've ever been in close proximity with!"

Suzette cut in before the two of them could begin an argument. "The point is something has changed! Ever since the night they returned from the ball…something's different," she sighed, knowing she would not be able to concentrate on her sewing. "Something's there that wasn't there before."

Rudolph's head rose as she said this. "W-w-w-what's there?"

Suzette glanced at Rudolph and felt color invade her cheeks as her imagination began to run away from her. "I'll tell you when you're older."

* * *

 

Christine's steps quickened as she heard Erik's swift stride come up from behind her. She could only imagine how he looked at that moment; she could feel his eyes burning through her, as well as hear his breathing. She wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart as she quickened her pace even more.

Finally, they arrived at the music chamber, but Christine did not stop till she reached the piano. Dare she turn around and look into those molten eyes? She could only imagine the darkness of his expression, which would freeze anyone from its coldness…yet for her, it made her blood run hotter. "I am ready maestro," Christine softly murmured, however she let out a great gasp as she felt two very strong hands grab her by the shoulders and swing her around.

"As am I," Erik growled, before crushing his mouth over hers in a hungry desperate kiss that spoke of intense longing and need.

Christine did not struggle; she had been hoping this would happen. Her hands clung to his powerful shoulders as the rest of her body went limp in his powerful arms. Her own mouth responded with the same hunger, the same desperation, and she welcomed his tongue with her own as she deeply returned the kiss.

Erik groaned as he felt his body respond to her sweet lips and the delicious taste of her tongue. He had known lust before in his life, but never…never had he felt passion! Never had he felt the all-consuming hunger for someone. When he paid women for pleasure, it was only for a moment, and it had nothing to do with them. They were objects he used to relieve his own lustful cravings, nothing more. Yet now, with Christine…he couldn't stop thinking about her. Since the night they made love…no, before that, since the night they kissed…perhaps even before that…he could not get enough of her. He longed to have her by his side, in his arms, the sweet fragrance of her hair, the soft feel of her skin, and the delicious taste of her lips lingering on his body. She made him feel like a man, not a monster. And when they made love…he discovered it was more than his own pleasure that he craved, but hers too! To hear the soft pant, the desperate mew, the pleasured sigh escape her lips…to know that he was causing her body to tremble so in his arms from sheer passion…God, his cock throbbed all the more harder at the thought.

"Erik," she whimpered between his kisses, her fingers tangling in the black strands of his hair. Her body was tingling all over, and the ache between her thighs was growing more and more. "Erik…please," she gasped as she felt his fingers slip under her gown and tease the inside of her thigh. Oh how she wanted him, how she desperately needed him…

"Christine," he growled, a sensual seductive growl that held a somewhat teasing tone. "Such a wanton creature…look how wet you are…" he hissed, his lips and teeth nibbling her neck as his fingers explored the damp folds of her heat, growling as Christine cried out in pleasure. "You like that?" he whispered, smiling as his thumb gently flicked over the pink nub of her clitoris, causing Christine to helplessly spasm in his arms.

"ERIK!" she screamed as she felt his fingers flick over the sensitive nub again. Erik could only grin as she clutched his shoulders, her head thrown back in ecstasy from the pleasured sensations he was driving through her body. His expression changed then; his smile disappeared, but the sensual hunger that made his amber eyes look like fire remained. He wanted more, he wanted to make her scream with pleasure, to feel her body spasm further. As his fingers deftly explored her sweet woman's flesh, he felt his hunger grow even further. Yes…he craved her sweet honey and he would show her such pleasure…

Christine gasped when she felt his powerful hands go under her arms and lift her in one mighty swoop. She found herself sitting atop the piano, her face flushed from passion and confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but Erik's mouth covered hers before words could escape. With coaxing hands, he laid her back against the piano, his lips ravishing hers as his hands moved down her body, lifting her skirts higher and higher. Christine whimpered and blushed further as she could feel the magic his hands were creating.

Surely he did not intend to…to make love to her atop the piano! All the times they had made love they had been in Erik's bed. Christine did not consider herself an expert, but…she had always assumed that was the proper place. "Erik," she moaned as she felt his lips leave hers and trail down her throat. "Erik…w-w-what…what are you…" she gasped as she felt his fingers stroke the inside of her thighs once more. "W-w-w-what are you…d-d-doing?"

He only smiled as his lips continued their descent, pushing the skirts of her gown all the way up to her waist. Christine tried to lift her head to see what he was doing and her eyes went wide as she realized where his lips were descending. "Erik no!" she gasped, her face a bright shade of scarlet. "Erik…y-you mustn't!"

"Why not?" he growled, kissing the inside of her left thigh. "I'm hungry Christine…you would not deny a starving man, would you?"

Christine whimpered, not knowing whether to fight him or give in to the temptation he was stirring within her. "T-t-this c-c-can not be right, s-surely?"

Erik said nothing; he was consumed with his hunger for her and his need to hear her scream. God, she smelled heavenly. He could not deny either of them further, and dipped his head to taste her sweet flesh and honey.

Christine gasped loudly as she felt his tongue dip inside her, parting her folds and exploring her woman's flesh. Surely men did not do this with women! Did they? She cried out as his tongue explored further, sliding up and down her body, drinking in her essence, growling for more. Good God…it felt like nothing she had ever imagined. She loved it; she didn't want him to stop! Her hands, which had reached down to push his shoulders away, were now tangling in the velvet threads of his midnight black hair.

Erik did not need further encouragement to continue, but the feel of her body relaxing rather than resisting only made his hunger greater! He growled against her flesh as her hips bucked to his lips, his hands moving from her waist to her hips to lift them and draw her even closer. God, she tasted good! Never had he imagined he would ever know such exquisite heaven! Her honey was on his tongue and her pleasured cries were in his ears; his own body was screaming for release, but he would deny himself for all eternity until she was trembling with ecstasy.

And then…as his tongue ran over the swollen sensitive nub at the pinnacle of her heat, she screamed and began to convulse with pleasure, her head thrown back and her hands gripping his.

The time was right.

Swiftly and skillfully, Erik moved, his hands unfastening his trousers and freeing his throbbing cock, before gripping her about the waist and sheathing himself in the sweet softness of her trembling body. He had lost count of how many times they had made love; yet he knew that his Christine had indeed grown accustomed to his size. She was still exquisitely tight, and he would never do anything to cause her pain, but it relieved him so that she too enjoyed it when their lovemaking was not always…gentle. He recalled how she had encouraged him once to thrust harder, to move deeper, but he feared he might be too rough. Yet she cried out for him and moaned with pleasure as his movements changed from gentle to desperate, and that night, they both learned what it truly meant to be "ravished" by passion.

They were both experiencing that once more; the feeling of Christine's sweet tightness trembling from her climax was practically enough for him to lose his senses. But he continued to thrust his body in and out of hers, relishing in the feeling, relishing in her sweet pleasured cries, moving faster, deeper, harder, until the same pleasure began to overtake his body, and with one final thrust, he collapsed upon her, gasping and panting.

"Erik…" she whimpered, her fingers tangling once more in his hair.

Erik could only groan, the need of his body sated once more, and yet his desire would forever remain ravenous for this extraordinary woman.

He would have it no other way…

* * *

Raoul angrily drummed his fingers along the wooden arm of the uncomfortable chair in which he was seated, his other hand softly massaging the bridge of his nose, as if trying to call upon some ancient meditation to calm his irritated nerves.

He had once more returned to the police, only this time to see Chief Inspector LeDue. LeDue was seated across from him, looking rather befuddled. This expression had been on the inspector's face ever since Raoul had mentioned the words "Phantom".

"So…you're telling me that…the old man's ravings are in fact…true?" LeDue slowly asked, as if trying to piece together a giant puzzle.

"YES, DAMN IT!" Raoul roared, the last string of his patience snapping. LeDue practically fell backwards from his chair.

Raoul bolted to his feet, the hard discomfort of the chair becoming more than he could bear, and it took every ounce of will power to not pick the chair up and fling it across the room in rage. He pressed the palms of his hands on the small table between himself and LeDue and leaned across, a dark menacing shadow falling across his face. "The Phantom is real…I saw him with my own eyes on the night of the New Year's Eve masquerade. He was there…he is not a myth, he is not a specter, he is a flesh and blood man…and he lives somewhere in the Paris Opera House."

LeDue swallowed the large nervous lump in his throat, his body shrinking back into his chair. "B-b-but, forgive me monsieur…b-b-but how can you be sure it was indeed the Phantom? It was a masquerade–"

"I KNOW WHAT IT BLOODY WAS!" Raoul shouted, slamming his fist upon the table. "But that was NO guest, that…was…the PHANTOM!" he said through thin clipped lips. "His costume was red from head to toe, he wore a mask that looked like a skull…trust me…it was him."

LeDue wasn't exactly sure how to respond. After all, he had always believed that the ghost stories about the Phantom of the Opera were simply that: ghost stories! Yet now, the Vicomte de Chagny, the Paris Opera House's greatest patron, was telling him the stories were true! He was so confused; he was not sure what exactly to believe. The only thing he was sure about was that he did not wish to anger the Vicomte further.

"Forgive me for asking, monsieur," LeDue said very carefully. "But…why do you think the Phantom would show himself…now? I thought he relied upon notes to make his presence known…why suddenly reveal himself?"

Raoul leaned away from the table, straightening his suit jacket and pulling a cigar from his the left breast pocket just inside. "I invited him," he simply said as he lit the cigar.

LeDue's eyes widened with even more confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

Raoul sighed and inhaled the smoke deeply. "The whole purpose of the masquerade was to bring him forth. Or, as I had suspected at the time, to reveal who the prankster was that was playing the part of 'the Phantom'," he explained. "Along with the countless notes the managers had been receiving, arrived a score…a score for a new opera."

LeDue's brow furrowed. His wife was the opera lover, not him. However, he knew that his wife would have told him if something like a new opera was going to be performed. And as he recalled, he had received no such news. "It was believed that this score came from the Phantom then?" he asked, still being careful with his words.

"It WAS from the Phantom," Raoul growled, exhaling a thick gray cloud of smoke in LeDue's face. "It was the Phantom's opera! He wrote an opera that he demands to be performed before the end of the opera season," he took another long puff on the cigar. "So I set the trap, using the score as bait to draw him in. I had the managers arrange for a grand masquerade ball to take place on New Year's Eve, and at the stroke of midnight, an announcement would be made in regards to a change in the opera season," he exhaled the smoke, his eyes fixed on an invisible object, his voice sounding far off. "It seemed clever at the time…the perfect trap," he sighed and sat back down into the hard wooden chair across from LeDue. "But the tables were turned; instead of him calling my bluff, I discovered that I, and everyone else, were calling his. He made the announcement himself about his own opera, and more or less…introduced himself to the whole world."

LeDue was still coughing from the smoke that had been blown in his face. "So…" he paused to cough. "He told everyone that he was in fact…the Phantom?"

"NO!" Raoul growled, turning his head away in disgust. "But he did announce that it was he that had written the opera; that the opera was going to be performed, and the rest of the season was canceled." Raoul groaned at the memory of all the people he had been speaking with over the last few days; all were demanding to know what was going on and who the man dressed as Red Death was. He had been so busy making excuses over the last few days that he had been unable to speak with LeDue till now, practically a week after the incident.

LeDue's brow was furrowed with confusion once more. "Monsieur, please know that I hold your opinion in highest regard," he hastily said. "I just struggle with understanding how you know that this masked man, who did not reveal himself as the Phantom…is in fact, the Phantom?"

Raoul's first reaction was to shout at the man, to grab him by the collar of his suit and throw him against the wall before spitting the truth in his face.

But he restrained himself.

Instead, he gripped the end of the chair very tightly, while taking another long puff on the cigar, inhaling a large cloud of gray smoke before breathing it all out. "I am not a superstitious man…I do not fall prey to ghost stories, I do not believe in fate, and I certainly question everything I'm told, as well as everything I see," he said simply, his voice clear and even, but also low and menacing. "Since my father's time, I recall hearing tales about the so-called 'Phantom'…and I never believed them. Even after I began receiving notes signed 'O.G.', I still held to the understanding that it was someone's ill attempt at having fun. Trust me LeDue, when I say that I am the last man in this world to ever believe that the Phantom of the Opera exists…and yet I have seen the damn beast with my own eyes!" he growled, throwing his cigar against the wall.

LeDue cringed at the motion, unsure what to say or do. Calming the Vicomte was perhaps the best thing. "Alright, alright, this man that you saw is the Phantom, the Phantom does exist," he reasoned. "But, forgive me," he cringed somewhat further. "I am unsure what exactly I can do…"

Raoul's face paled; his eyes went wide with disbelief at what LeDue had said. "You're the chief inspector! Rally your officers together and arrest him!"

"How?" LeDue argued. "Where do I go? I know, I know, you said he lives in the opera house," he quickly cut in. "But where do I begin to look? That building is huge! I can't have my officers looking under every nook and cranny for the Phantom…why, he may not even live in the opera house! We don't truly know for sure, monsieur, and further more," he added before Raoul could interrupt. "On what charges can I arrest him if I do find him?"

These words were almost too much. "What charges…? WHAT CHARGES?" he rose from his chair causing it to fall backward with a loud thud. "MURDER! THEFT! KIDNAPPING! ARE THOSE CHARGES WORTHY ENOUGH?" he pounded his fists hard onto the table.

LeDue raised his hands, both as a sign to calm the Vicomte down, as well as to defend himself should the man become violent. "I don't know of such charges, monsieur! I mean, I have heard of…of accidents that have occurred over the years there, and the old man claims his daughter–"

"DAMN IT, THE PHANTOM IS REAL, HE LIVES IN THAT OPERA HOUSE, AND HE HAS CHRISTINE DAAE WITH HIM! I'VE SEEN HER, SHE WAS AT THE BALL! I DANCED WITH HER! AND HE TOOK HER!"

LeDue lifted his hands higher, praying he could bring reason back to this situation. "Monsieur, you told me this when you arrived! You told me that at the time you didn't know it was Daae's daughter until the Phantom took her! She was costumed, she wore a mask, and no one else has mentioned anything about the incident until now, and it's been a week since! It is not enough evidence for me to conduct a proper investigation, I am sorry!"

Raoul was seething. He glared at the chief inspector from across the table, his eyes wild with green fire, his palms flat on the table, his jaw set and the muscles under his eyes twitching. "Mark my words, LeDue," he hissed. "You will regret this day…" he pointed a finger at the man, and then, in a great rage, grabbed the wooden table between the two of them and threw it hard against the wall, causing it to shatter into several large pieces. "REGRET IT!" he roared, before turning on his heel and stalking out.

LeDue did not move; even after the Vicomte left, he remained in his chair, afraid to move.

Raoul pushed passed anyone who was in his way and marched directly to his carriage. "Take me to the Opera House!" he barked at his driver.

The carriage driver cringed at the Vicomte's voice, knowing from the tone that things had not gone well. "Inspector LeDue will not be able to help?" he carefully asked, hoping to not have his fingers broken in the carriage door like the last time his master was in a rage.

Raoul simply sat back and stared ahead at an invisible target, the muscles under his eyes still twitching with anger. "Oh he'll help, I'll see to that," he vowed. "He just needs a little…persuasion…evidence to convince him to look into this matter."

The carriage driver shivered at his master's words; however it was what he said afterward that made his blood run cold. "If evidence is what he wants…I'll make sure that is what he gets…now DRIVE ON!" Raoul roared, the carriage driver quickly scrambling to his seat and urging the horses at a quick pace to head to the Vicomte's destination.

Raoul stared out the window of his carriage at the citizens of Paris; however his gaze was a thousand miles away. He was concocting a plan, a plan that would rid him of this Phantom once and for all, as well as return the beautiful Christine to him once more.

He would have that girl; she would be his in every sense of the word, she and the fortune that was going to be left to her once the Marquis Clamont finally died. Nothing was going to stop him, he had never failed in a conquest before, and he wasn't going to start now.

Yes, he thought, a devious smile spreading across his handsome features. She would be his bride…and on their wedding day…he would have them dance on the Phantom's grave. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several alterations are being made...both to the Phantom's opera, and to Raoul's wicked plans...

_**Alterations** _

Christine purred happily as she stretched her arms over her head, sighing as she remembered the delicious dream she had been having; she and Erik had made love, but prior to that, Erik had…well…he had…

Christine couldn't help but blush deeply at the memory, her hand covering the pleasured smile that spread across her face. Did she dare tell him of her dream? They had made love atop his piano! How would he react from hearing such thoughts? Would he be disgusted? She prayed he wouldn't, but she was unsure, after all, she had never imagined couples doing what…well, what they had done in her dream.

She sighed once more and stretched her arms out against the bed, and then froze as she her hands made contact with the plush Persian pillows that adorned Erik's bed.

She was in Erik's bed!

Then…it had not been a dream?

Christine felt her face grow a deeper shade of scarlet at the thought that, yes…that exquisite moment which she had thought was a dream…had actually happened!

Oh God, how could she face him? He must think her so wanton!

And then Christine shook her head, feeling so foolish for her embarrassment. "Really Christine Daae, I'm sure the many times you have given yourself to him freely have long since proven that you are wanton," she muttered to herself. Still…the blush remained bright upon her cheeks.

A sweet haunting melody filled the chamber and Christine lifted her head, hearing the warm rich tones of Erik's organ reverberate off the stone walls. She rose from the bed, taking Erik's dressing gown and wrapping it around her body, before emerging into the music chamber.

Erik was at his organ, dressed in a plain white linen shirt and black trousers. He was hunched over the instrument, playing several notes before pausing to pick up his pen and write a few words on a piece of parchment. She stood silently in the entryway and watched as his fingers skillfully danced across the organ keys with such grace. As he played, he would softly hum to the music, now and then breaking into song.

"…silently the senses…abandon their defenses…" he softly sang, nodding his head as if agreeing with someone that yes, these words were suitable. The tune was so haunting and so beautiful; in fact, Christine could have sworn she had heard it once before…

Christine hugged the robe ever closer around her body, sighing as she watched her lover and Phantom perform his art perfectly. Her eyes softly began to drift shut as both the cords from the organ and Erik's voice wove around her like a spider weaving its silken web.

"Slowly, gently,  
night unfurls its splendor…  
Grasp it, sense it–  
tremulous and tender…  
Turn your face away from the garish light of day–"

The music was having such a hypnotic effect on Christine that she had completely lost her balance! In a last attempt to keep from falling, she grasped the velvet curtains that were drawn at the entryway which separated Erik's bedchamber from his music chamber, but it was all in vain, for she was toppling over, squealing as the curtains came down with her.

Erik whirled around at the sound, completely startled by Christine's presence. It was very rare that Erik was taken unawares. There on the floor, lay the velvet curtains with a rather large lump beneath them. The lump attempted to scramble to her feet as well as push the fabric off her, yet it seemed that Christine only became tangled further. She was cursing at this point, a very unladylike thing to do–which Erik could not help but grin at.

"Perhaps you are the true 'Phantom', mademoiselle?" Erik asked, his grin spreading even further as he heard Christine grumble at his words. "I confess you do look more like a ghost than I…" he teased, before approaching and kneeling before the curtain-covered lump. "Would you care for some assistance?"

Christine finally managed to find an opening and freed her head, giving Erik a most filthy look. "I can manage fine on my own, thank you," she snapped, before attempting to stand which was proving to be more difficult than she had thought.

Erik bit back the laugh that threatened to escape and immediately helped her up; ignoring the dirty looks she kept sending his way. "Thank you," she muttered, to which he gave a rather elegant, yet teasing bow.

"My pleasure as always," he murmured, the teasing in his voice dying down as he took in the sight of her. Her curls were deliciously tangled, her cheeks had a fresh rosy hue, and she was wearing his dressing gown which only reminded him of the delectable body that lay underneath. The fire in his loins began to burn once more at the memory of her flesh…

Christine's skin tingled at the way Erik looked at her. She blushed once more as the memory of their past lovemaking returned. "That music was beautiful," she squeaked, before quickly coughing to regain composure to her voice. It was hard to have composure when Erik undressed her with his sensuous eyes.

He smiled at her compliment and took a step back, although it took every ounce of willpower he had. "Thank you," he whispered, before gathering the music together and placing it in a leather-bound folder.

Christine's brow furrowed at the rather hasty way he was hiding the music. "Oh! No, I did not mean that you had to stop playing!" she implored, coming to his side to rest her hand atop his. "Please, continue, I would love to hear more–"

"Hush," Erik whispered, moving one finger to cover her lips. "It is not ready yet, but all in good time," he smiled, before placing the folder on a pile of parchment that lay next to the organ. "Besides, we have much work to do, it can not be denied that you are rather…behind on your lessons…" he murmured silkily, his eyes burning into hers with a knowledge that only the two of them shared.

Christine felt her face grow hot. Indeed, this whole week during their rehearsals they had not touched one single piece of music. They had been otherwise…occupied. "I do not recall you protesting to the use of our time," Christine teased, despite the deep flush that covered her cheeks.

Erik could not help but grin, and reached out for her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. "I would be a fool if I did," he growled, his lips finding hers and kissing them softly. Christine moaned against his mouth and opened hers to invite him in, but he reluctantly withdrew his lips much to the disappointment of both of them. "There is a matter of great importance that I wish to discuss with you," he sighed, his hand gently brushing a few stray curls from her face.

Christine's eyes grew wide at the seriousness of his tone. Had something happened? Was it about her father? No, if something had happened to her father, she was sure Erik would have told her immediately. She reached up and entwined her fingers with his, her eyes looking deeply into his own. "Go on," she insisted, preparing herself for the news.

Erik was moved by the simple gesture of her hand moving into his. Her fingers were so soft and so tiny compared to his. He gently squeezed her hand and reached for a piece of blank parchment. "I have been thinking about…what you said about Aminta…" he began, "about why she would not betray Don Juan."

Christine remained silent as he spoke, but her heart was pounding wildly at what he could mean. He looked down at their locked fingers and gave a sad soft smile. "Perhaps you were right…perhaps I was writing about Marie, that I was angry with her and wanted to release the pain she had caused me in some way…" he sighed. "But all that's changed now…" he looked up into Christine's eyes, amazed at how deep, at how innocent, and at how blue they were. "Ever since I heard you sing so many nights ago, I knew that I had found my Aminta…but what I hadn't realized was that at the same time…I had discovered who Aminta really is…"

Christine's breath caught in her throat as Erik lifted her hand and softly brushed his odd-shapen lips across her knuckles. "Do you remember the first time we were on the roof?" he whispered, looking into her eyes, still amazed at the love he saw in them. Christine smiled and quietly nodded her head. "I remember it very clearly," he whispered. "The words you said to me about how I could not judge all women based solely upon Marie's actions. That when you love a man, you would love him wholly and fully…" his hand moved to catch a tear that was slowly sliding down Christine's cheek. "Indeed…you have proven to me that you are a most unique woman, Christine Daae," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

Christine smiled at his words but her eyes darted away, feeling somewhat unworthy of such praise. But she felt Erik's strong fingers cup her chin and draw her tear filled gaze back to his. "Do not hide from me angel," he whispered, his fingers moving to wipe away the tears that had escaped.

Christine blushed and smiled at him, shaking her head and moving her hands to wipe her face, feeling foolish for crying, but she couldn't help it; in all her life she had never imagined she would experience such passion, that her heart would burn for another the way it did for this man. And this was a man, who once upon a time she had despised, but that was all forgotten; now she couldn't imagine feeling anything for him other than love.

Erik smiled and thought how unusual it was that he was doing just that…smiling. Truly, not since this woman came into his life had he ever really smiled before. He wasn't sure what he had done to win God's favor or God's forgiveness, but he was eternally grateful for this woman to have trespassed into his world so many months ago.

"You tell me that you love me–"

"I do love you," Christine declared, her hand moving to touch his own that lay against her cheek. She moved her lips to his palm and placed the softest of kisses against it. Erik groaned inwardly at the gesture, his heart swelling with love and his body yearning to feel hers once more.

"I believe you," he assured, although he was still amazed. She could tell him every second of every day for the rest of his life that she loved him…he would never ceased to be amazed. "I don't understand why," he sighed, "but I believe you when you tell me that you love me…and…" he looked deeply into her eyes and felt his amazement double. "…I can see it in your eyes, the love you speak. This is why…I'm changing my opera."

Christine's eyes widened at these words and her mouth fell open as if to speak, but no noise came out. Erik could not help but chuckle at the look on her face, his fingers moving to her chin to close her mouth. "I didn't think it was going to be that surprising," he teased.

"Do you mean…when you say you're changing your opera…you mean…Aminta and Don Juan…they…they will…" she was too flabbergasted to finish, and a part of her needed to hear him say the words, to tell her that this was real.

"Yes," he assured, his heart warming at the smile that spread across her face from his words. "I am going to change the ending; your Aminta will return to Don Juan not as a woman who betrayed him…but as a woman who still loves him…despite the horrific scars that disfigure his body and soul," he murmured softly, his eyes moving away from hers. Christine opened her mouth to protest Erik's meaning, but he quickly continued, not wishing to dwell on the topic. "This is where I need your help, my dear."

Christine was taken aback by his words. "M-m-my help?"

"Yes," Erik said matter-of-factly, reluctantly removing her from his lap to sit beside him, and reaching for a clean piece of parchment and setting it before them. "The ending needs to change obviously, and I want your advice on how you best think it should be handled. Now I have a few ideas, such as a grave misunderstanding, or perhaps Aminta's handsome lover filling her head with lies to lure her away from Don Juan…actually I rather like that one, what do you think?"

Christine stared at him, her mouth falling open once more, but no sound was coming out like the last time. Erik cocked one black eyebrow at her expression. "I confess, that was not the ending I was thinking, but I'm sure there's some way we can work it in."

Christine quickly closed her mouth and gave his shoulder a playful shove, which naturally had no effect on him whatsoever. "You're serious? You wish…you wish for me to help you with changing the ending of your opera?"

Erik shrugged his shoulders as if it were the most general question anyone should ever ask him. "Of course, you are my star as well as my muse, and I greatly value your opinion when it comes to music…after all, you did improve that one song of Aminta's, and you did promise me to never hold back your thoughts when it comes to music, did you not?"

"Well yes, but…" she stared at him, truly amazed at the change in this man. Oh he still knew how to be tall, dark, and brooding, but…something had changed within him, something that seemed to melt the icy exterior that was wrapped about him like the black silken cape he always wore. "You really want to change the ending…a-and you're not simply doing this because of me, a-a-are you?"

Erik smiled at her question but shook his head. "I would be lying to tell you that a part of me isn't doing it because of you…but this is my own decision Christine…I see now what you had been saying all this time, and I agree…Aminta would never betray Don Juan."

Christine couldn't help herself, she gave a happy cry and threw her arms around Erik's neck, surprising her Phantom tremendously, but a surprise at which he welcomed, wrapping his own strong arms around her and hugging her tightly to him. "No she would not Erik," she happily cried, letting the joyful tears spring forth. "She loves him…just as much as I love you…" she sniffled, blushing and grinning all at once. "And I would be honored to help you in any way that I can."

Erik smiled at the beautiful woman before him, his hands tenderly running over her tear-stained cheeks. "Thank you," he murmured, his own voice filled with emotion. It was a "thank you" with many meanings…and Erik meant every single one of them.

"So," he cleared his throat, gaining control of his emotions once more. "Do you have any suggestions for an ending?"

Christine quickly wiped her eyes and regained composure of her emotions once more. "I think for the sake of the story that it would make the most sense to have a misunderstanding caused by Aminta's handsome young lover."

Erik nodded his head and dipped his pen into the inkwell beside the organ. "Do you have any more suggestions?" he inquired, while writing a few notes down on the parchment.

Christine blushed as a knowing smile spread across her face. "Write them a song, Erik," she pleaded.

Erik lifted his head and cocked another eyebrow at her. "Don Juan and Aminta's young lover?"

"No!" Christine groaned, once again shoving Erik's shoulders to which he grinned. "A song for Don Juan and Aminta! At the end of the opera, when they are together again…a…a love song," she whispered, blushing but smiling happily at her masked lover.

"Ever the romantic," he teased, but the smile he gave her told her that he liked her idea very much. "Very well then, I shall compose a song for them…but I will still need your assistance. Your knowledge of gothic romance can help with the lyrics."

Christine grinned and eagerly sat up, her back straight like a good student, prepared to help her mentor and lover in any way that she could. "I am ready, maestro."

Erik smiled; he couldn't help but find her eagerness charming. "Then let us begin…"

* * *

 

"So, what you're telling me is…it was all a stunt of some sort?"

Firmin simply nodded his head at the newspaperman who sat across from him, a fake smile plastered to his face.

The newspaperman seemed distraught by this news, his brow crinkled with confusion. "Madame Trumane has always been a reliable source when it comes to news in Parisian society and the arts. I just can't believe she'd be wrong about something like this…"

"Yes, well, it did seem rather…realistic, to say the least," Firmin sighed, forever holding his smile. "But that is why we are one of the best opera companies in the world! We have the greatest actors."

"But I understand that the Vicomte de Chagny was threatened–"

"Come now, monsieur, do you truly think we would allow any harm to come to our highest paying patron? The Vicomte is a businessman, he saw this as an opportunity to help raise ticket sales."

The newspaperman eyed Firmin suspiciously before sighing and closing his briefcase. "Very well, I thank you, monsieur, for taking your time to answer my questions. I must say, no offense of course, but I am rather disappointed that this whole story of 'The Phantom' is nothing more than a publicity stunt. Stories of murder and gore always sell better. Ah well," he sighed before picking up his hat. "Good day then."

"Yes, good day," Firmin replied, his smile never fading as he held the office door open for the newspaperman.

Just at that moment, Andre came rushing in, his handkerchief mopping up the sweat on his brow, his face red from whatever sprint he had just completed. "FIRMIN! GOOD GOD THIS IS THE WORST NEWS EVER! I'VE JUST RECEIVED ANOTHER NOTE, WAIT TILL YOU–"

"ANDRE!" Firmin practically shouted, grabbing hold of his partner's shoulders and giving the man a good hard shake. "I don't believe you've met Monsieur Bernard, he's with the NEWSPAPER," Firmin said very crisply and clearly.

Andre's face immediately paled as he slowly turned to acknowledge the short bearded man who was staring up at him with wide uneasy eyes. "Oh! Oh good afternoon, monsieur!" Andre greeted warmly, his face adopting a smile similar to Firmin's. "I beg your pardon, I did not mean to intrude, I um…that is…well you see, it's just awful, I was coming to tell Firmin that I have just received a note from one of our dear patrons who sadly has taken ill."

Firmin's smile remained steadfast, while inside he wanted to throttle Andre for his ill attempt at lying.

The newspaperman eyed Andre with great suspicion before asking, "Which patron may I ask?"

"I'm afraid we can not speak of such things, monsieur, I apologize!" Firmin practically pushed the man out the office door. "We must keep the confidentiality of our patrons, you understand! Yes, well, my business partner and I have much…um…"

"Business!" Andre piped up.

"Yes! Business, we have much business to go over…to um…to prepare for our next…performance." Firmin wanted to crawl into a hole and die right at that moment.

The newspaperman tried to turn to ask them further questions. "Which opera? When shall it be performed?"

"You'll just have to buy a ticket to find out!" Andre declared, before pushing the man entirely out of the office and slamming the door before he could ask anything further.

Both managers collapsed into the nearest chairs at that point. "Good God," Firmin groaned, his fingers massaging his cheekbones which ached from smiling. "I never thought he'd leave…damn Madame Trumane and her big expensive mouth," he cursed.

"Madame Trumane sent him?" Andre asked, his finger pointing in the direction where the newspaperman had been standing.

Firmin nodded his head. "Yes, and yesterday it was someone who had heard news from Monsieur Raymond, and the day before that from Madame Bernadette," he groaned as he recalled how many reporters had come in that week, each wanting to know whether the Opera House was truly canceling its season, and who the man dressed as Red Death was. And Firmin was beginning to run out of excuses.

"What are we going to do, Andre?" the older manager groaned, his hands rising to rub his throbbing temples. "It's amazing we've been able to keep the papers silent for this long! But with so many tattling witnesses, and with a company that's frightened beyond all belief to perform–"

"Good God, I almost forgot," Andre gasped, before thrusting the note he had been waving about earlier into Firmin's face. "This is the last straw Firmin, by God, it's the last straw!"

The older manager frowned at the note and quickly removed it from Andre's shaking fingers. Truth be told, he did not want to open it. Instead, he wanted to thrust it into the fireplace and let it burn along with the other notes they had been receiving that week.

But he didn't dare; ever since Red Death's appearance at the ball, Firmin was far less skeptical about the so-called Phantom of the Opera.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Firmin groaned, opening the letter to read its horrid contents. Andre was already on his feet, pacing the office like a caged animal. Firmin's eyes, which had been narrow as he began reading the note, slowly widened with shock and horror at what was before him. He looked up at the younger manager, his mouth agape and his face pale.

"Yes," Andre groaned, shaking his head sadly. "Yes, that is what it is…a casting list!" he shouted out of sheer frustration, picking up a small vase filled with flowers and throwing it against the wall.

Firmin jumped from the outburst and quickly rose to his feet. "Will you get a hold of yourself!" he hissed at his partner, praying that no one would come and inquire after the noise.

"GET A HOLD OF MYSELF? FIRMIN…HE'S MADE A BLOODY CASTING LIST! HE'S CHOSEN WHO WILL PLAY WHOM IN THIS…THIS…SHIT OF AN OPERA!"

Firmin flinched at the words and without a second thought reached out and slapped the other man hard across the face. "Will you be quiet?" he hissed again. "The last thing we need is…well…" he glanced at the walls around them, "more reasons for him to send us into financial ruin!"

Andre had been stunned by Firmin's reaction to his outburst; however it did allow him to gain some composure which had fleeted him for those moments. "What are we going to do? If she finds out about this…oh God almighty…" Andre groaned, quickly crossing himself. "We're ruined Firmin! Truly, this Phantom will–no, _is_ ruining us!"

Firmin wanted to respond with a hopeful answer, with something that sounded both calm as well as brilliant, but he was at a complete loss. And this casting list was simply the tip of a very large and very destructive iceberg.

"I mean, do we dare comply? We have to do something! The company is beginning to talk!" Andre panicked. "You know it's only a matter of time before one of them goes to the newspapers! And what are we going to do about this opera? We can't go through with it!"

"Of course you can."

Andre stared at Firmin, astounded that his partner would say such a thing. But he realized then that it was not Firmin who spoke, and turned his head towards the door to where the voice had come.

"MONSIEUR!" both managers exclaimed, a fleeting sense of hope filling them as they gazed at the Vicomte who stood before them.

"Oh thank God you are here!"

"We've been battling reporters all week!"

"–have no idea what to tell the company–"

"–Carlotta is going out of her mind!"

Raoul sighed and raised his hands to silence both managers. They instantly complied. "Gentlemen, indeed we have much to discuss…but this is hardly…" he too glanced around the room suspiciously, "…the proper place for such a conversation. Come."

The two men stared at the retreating figure of the Vicomte before quickly grabbing their coats and hats and immediately following their patron. Raoul led them to his carriage and had the driver take them to his club. As it was the middle of the day, the club that Raoul attended was practically empty, save for a few gentlemen. It was the perfect place to discuss business matters…and far away from invisible eyes and ears.

Raoul found a quiet table away from any other prying eyes, ordered a bottle of champagne, and immediately lit a cigar. "Well, let's get to it," he muttered, deeply inhaling the cigar's smoky calmness. The managers glanced at one another and then both of them, once again, burst out at the same time with their problems.

"–we've been receiving notes all week!"

"–company is in an uproar–"

"–running out of excuses–"

"GENTLEMEN!" Raoul bellowed, before immediately lowering his voice. "One at a time!" he hissed. "I too have been dealing with questions all week. Like you, I too have been using whatever excuse I can think of…and like you, I'm beginning to run out."

Andre practically whimpered. "If you can't help us, monsieur, who can?"

"Calm yourself!" both Raoul and Firmin hissed, especially as their champagne had just arrived. The bottle was uncorked and the glasses were poured, but no one moved to take a drink. Raoul took a long puff on his cigar and blew the smoke into the air over the managers' heads. He eyed them both, and feeling that Andre had at last gotten a hold of his nerves, quietly asked, "you said you received notes?"

Both men shivered and groaned in agony at the question. "Yes," Firmin muttered. "The day after the ball, we received a note filled with instructions for how to direct his opera! Said he would be 'watching in from time to time' to make sure we did things the way he wanted!"

"He's sent threats too!" Andre hissed. "Threats that would make your blood run cold!"

Raoul remained calm. "For example?"

"Scandals! Thievery! Even…" his voice was barely above a whisper, "murder."

Raoul cocked an eyebrow at this. So the Phantom was still using the same playing card, still threatening lives should his demands not be met? Perfect. It all played into Raoul's hand even more. To get LeDue's attention, he needed a murder or some sort of tragedy to befall someone at the opera house…someone that could potentially cause great scandal. He looked at Andre and wondered if LeDue would investigate should the younger manager reach an untimely end.

"Monsieur?" Andre asked, noticing the distant look in the Vicomte's eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Raoul muttered, waking from his trance. "What other notes have you received?"

Firmin sighed and began counting them off. "The conductor, Monsieur Gerard, received his own copy of the score, along with a note that demanded the replacement of the third trombone, not to mention an extra bassoon," he groaned.

"Notes on costume design, set decoration, lighting, props–" Andre added.

"Not to mention the note about sacking half of the chorus," Firmin grumbled.

Andre's eyes widened with realization. "OH! Madame Giry even received a note!"

Raoul's eyebrows rose at this news. "Really? And did she too receive threats?"

Andre's face fell at that. "Well…no, simply that she needed to instruct the ballet in Spanish dances."

"Interesting," Raoul muttered. Despite what she said, Raoul knew deep in his bones that Madame Giry knew more about the Phantom than she was letting on. Once he thought the woman to be the hand that penned the infamous notes; now he believed her to be an accomplice to the caped menace that haunted the opera house. "And Carlotta?" he inquired.

Both men looked at one another and groaned painfully. "She is threatening to leave…again," Andre muttered.

"And she demands that the season continues, as she has her heart set on playing the Countess in 'Il Muto'," Firmin grumbled. "She glanced at the score for 'Don Juan' and called it garbage. She won't sing it, she doesn't care if we lose every penny!"

"Well, that won't be a problem now, will it?" Andre muttered with great sarcasm.

Raoul's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Andre sighed and without another word, simply handed the Vicomte the letter he had received earlier that day. Raoul took the note and began reading, his brow furrowing all the more. "What is this?"

"A casting list," Firmin explained. "He's gone ahead and chosen the cast for his opera."

Raoul studied the list carefully. "Piangi will play Don Juan, hardly a surprise at that…but the role of Aminta, the lead female…it's left blank."

Both managers groaned once more, and Andre took hold of his champagne glass and downed the contents in one gulp. "Read on monsieur, you'll see…"

Raoul cocked another eyebrow. "Surely Carlotta would be playing the lead–"

"Read on," both managers instructed.

Raoul sighed and did just that, reading down the cast list, many of the names meaning nothing to him as they were all members of the chorus, however his eyes stopped as one name filled his vision. "Carlotta is cast as…Gypsy #2?" he practically choked.

"GYPSY #2!" both managers wailed in agony.

"It's a role of such insignificance that even chorus nobodies are casted higher!" Andre groaned. "You know how she can be monsieur, when she finds out–"

"She won't find out!" Firmin hissed at his partner. "We're not going to do this…this filth!"

Raoul, now fully recovered from the shock of the casting, calmly exhaled a large gray cloud from his lips. "Of course you are, don't be a fool Firmin."

Firmin froze as if he had been stabbed through the heart. His face paled and his gray beard appeared to have turned white. "I…I b-b-beg your pardon, monsieur?"

Raoul handed the note back to Andre who was looking just as stunned. "You heard the Phantom's orders…we're performing this opera and canceling the rest of the season. Why look so surprised? I told you after the ball that we were going along with his plan."

Now both managers were staring at the Vicomte with wide eyes and even wider mouths. True, they both remembered how Raoul had informed them the night of the masquerade that they would perform the Phantom's opera, however they had simply believed he was still suffering from the severe blow on the head the Phantom had given him.

They were at a complete loss for words, just the way Raoul preferred them. "I know I have long been the cynic of our business venture," he sighed, taking a sip of his champagne. "But I will admit when I'm wrong…and I was wrong about the Phantom; well, partially wrong. After all, he is not a ghost, that much…" he recalled how the villain had gripped him by the neck and lifted him off the ground, "…we can be certain," he muttered.

Firmin finally closed his mouth and attempted to make sense of this new situation. "Am I to understand then…that you actually WANT us to…to put on this production?"

Raoul smiled and took another deep puff from his cigar. "Exactly."

Firmin blinked several times before speaking again. "I beg your pardon monsieur, but…ARE YOU MAD?"

Andre reached out and slapped Firmin hard across the face, something he had been wanting to do for some time. Firmin sat back, stunned by the gesture as well as Raoul's revelation that they would be performing _Don Juan Triumphant_.

"Thank you, Andre," Raoul muttered. "And no, Firmin, allow me to explain and you will see how wise a decision this is." Content that he had both managers full attention, he continued. "So it appears our Phantom fellow is real. Therefore, so are his threats. If there is a story of a murder that he has committed, we can only assume it is true."

"A mad man…a mad man living somewhere in our opera house!" Andre hissed.

Firmin turned to the Vicomte. "Surely the police will–"

"No," Raoul coldly replied.

Both men stared at Raoul with absolute horror. "The police won't help?"

Raoul shook his head, still fuming over the conversation he had had with LeDue. "They need more proof than stories or letters to conduct a proper investigation. We are completely on our own, gentlemen," he sighed, taking another sip of his champagne.

"Good God," Andre whispered. "He's right Firmin…we have no choice! We'll have to perform the opera if we wish to avoid…any sort of scandal!"

Firmin shook off Andre's clinging hands that were gripping his arm. "Monsieur," he said turning his attention back to Raoul. "I have looked over the opera…and it's ludicrous! Complete lunacy! Why, even Monsieur Gerard says it's impossible to conduct, the cords go every which way, the music is off key–"

"Sounds rather…modern," Raoul sighed, exhaling the smoke from his cigar.

"Exactly! Extremely modern, monsieur! The reviews will crucify us!"

Raoul rolled his eyes at Firmin's hysterics. "Since when do you care about reviews? It's the money that matters! The profit we make from tickets, not reviews! Those reviews would matter more to the composure, and if he doesn't like them, let him haunt the bloody newspaper."

Andre bit his lip at the mention of tickets. "What will our patrons think, monsieur? If we do this opera and cancel the rest of the season, they'll surely demand their money back!"

Raoul rolled his eyes again. "Obviously you both know nothing about the aristocracy or the delightful selling power of social gossip," he grinned. "Say nothing to the papers, say nothing to your patrons. Should anyone approach you about what is going on at the opera house, simply reply that 'you are hard at work for the next production', and nothing more. Rumors will begin to fly of course, and instead of ticket sales dropping…they will rise. People will want to know what is going on! Why is nothing being said? And then, when the time is right, make your announcement that you will be premiering a brand new opera! Dazzle them by letting them think they are an honored group to see this first hand before anyone else. Say nothing about Carlotta, in fact, say nothing at all about it. Don't even mention the Phantom! Simply let rumors be what they want to be. Those who insist on remembering the wretched events from the masquerade may continue to do so, while others will most likely have forgotten by that point. But trust me, my dear managers…we will not lose one penny if we are smart."

The Vicomte's words were somewhat reassuring; after all, they could see the logic behind them. However, there was still one more serious matter to discuss. "What of Carlotta?" Firmin whispered, dreading having to say the woman's name at all.

Raoul was drinking his champagne when Firmin mentioned her name. He quickly downed the remaining contents of his glass. "Leave her to me," he sighed, although it was more of an irritated groan.

"But…what about this…this 'Aminta'?" Andre asked. He opened the letter again and pointed to a note that the Phantom had written in the corner. "Says here that he will cast her part in due time, that we should not worry about it. Carlotta will definitely take notice when we have no female lead at rehearsals!"

Raoul's brow furrowed at the side note he had not seen earlier. Why would the blasted Phantom take so much time to cast everyone but the role of Aminta? What did he mean by waiting?

…and then it slowly occurred to him.

"Christine Daae," he whispered.

"Christine Daae?" Firmin asked. "Wasn't she Carlotta's costume girl?" he asked, looking to Andre for an answer.

"Yes…I remember her now, the daughter of our elusive violinist," the younger manager muttered. "Carlotta had her fired, and we never saw the old man again. What made you think of her, monsieur?" Andre asked Raoul.

Raoul crumpled the note in one of his powerful fists, an evil jealous glare shadowing his eyes. "He has her…he intends to cast her in the role of Aminta."

"What?" both managers gasped. "Surely you're mistaken, why…why would the Phantom have Mademoiselle Daae?"

Raoul grabbed the champagne bottle and quickly refilled his glass. "She was at the masquerade. I danced with her. It all adds up. After Carlotta fired her, she went missing! According to the woman who rented the apartment out to the girl and her father, neither of them was seen again since the morning of the opening gala! Don't you see? She's been in the Phantom's clutches all this time!"

The managers paled at this news, however they did find it rather hard to swallow. "You say you danced with her?" Firmin inquired.

Raoul gulped down the contents of his glass. "Yes," he rasped. "The lady in the golden gown…that was her. She was attempting to escape, I'm sure of it. But the bastard…" he growled. "He stopped us and took her!"

"My God," Andre gasped. "That poor girl! Who knows what horrors she's had to put up with all this time!"

Firmin was still skeptical. "What makes you think the Phantom intends for Mademoiselle Daae to play the part? Can the girl even sing?"

Raoul did not know the answer to that question, but something deep within his soul told him that this was the Phantom's true intention. "It's her…I know it's her, why else would he have kept her alive all this time other than to use her for some diabolical scheme?"

Both managers shivered at the thought of what the young woman must have gone–must be going through, in the depths of the opera house as a prisoner of the Phantom. However, Firmin found himself still confused by the whole idea. "Why do you think she went with him so willingly then?"

Raoul's head snapped up. "What?"

"W-w-well," Firmin swallowed. "Of course she was trying to escape, as you said, by disguising herself at the ball…but…why then, did she go so willingly with him when he took her from your side?"

"SHE DID NOT GO WILLINGLY WITH HIM!" Raoul roared, rising to his feet and caring not for who looked at them. "SHE HAD NO CHOICE OF COURSE! SHE HAD BEEN CAUGHT, SHE HAD TO GO WITH HIM, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK SHE WENT WILLINGLY? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK SHE'D LEAVE WITH HIM INSTEAD OF ME IF SHE HAD THE CHOICE?"

Both men had shrunk back in their chairs by the force of the Vicomte's roar. "I'm sorry, monsieur! I truly did not mean to offend!" Firmin whimpered like a frightened dog. "Of course, you're right, she had no choice, she had to go with him, and she was trying to escape but could not."

Raoul looked satisfied by this acknowledgement, and quickly calmed himself, smoothing the wrinkles out of his jacket from the outburst. "Of course," he replied rather calmly, although his whole body was shaking from the rage that still brewed within him. "If my suspicions are correct, then Mademoiselle Daae will return to us…however it won't be for some time, no doubt she will not be released till close to opening night."

"How…how can we rehearse without a leading female?" Andre carefully asked, not wanting to evoke the Vicomte's wrath.

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. "That is not my concern," he took another gulp of champagne. "But we do this…perform his opera, follow his instructions to the letter, and act as if his wrath truly frightens us–"

Both managers exchanged glances with one another. They would not have to act very hard.

"–then his guard will be down, and that is when we will STRIKE!" he hissed, pounding his fist down upon the table, causing the glasses to shake.

The managers couldn't help but jump at this motion. "Go on…" Firmin whispered.

"I'll think of some way to get the police there," he muttered. "But it is without a doubt, he will be there to see his so-called masterpiece performed."

"Yes!" Andre exclaimed. "And we'll be certain the doors are barred!"

"And certain our men are armed!" Firmin added.

"Indeed!" Raoul proclaimed. "And when the curtain falls…so will he!"

"Brilliant, monsieur, brilliant!" both men exclaimed, lifting their glasses to toast their patron. Raoul couldn't help but grin at their gesture, a haughty smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Um…begging your pardon, monsieur," a waiter interrupted, standing beside their table, holding a tray in one hand. Raoul frowned at the man, but his frown deepened even further as his gaze fell upon the note that lay on the tray. "This just arrived for you," the waiter explained, offering the note to the Vicomte.

Raoul took the note very reluctantly and felt his blood turn to ice at the familiar red skull seal that adorned the parchment. Without another word or glance at his managers, he ripped the seal open and began to read the letter at once.

_My dear Vicomte,_

_I am pleased to hear that you have finically agreed to see my opera performed. It pleases me to know that an esteemed patron of my opera house is so eager to provide support to the arts._

The letter was dripping with sarcasm.

_Since you are showing such eagerness to seeing this production take flight, then no doubt you will work hard to see my needs met. It would be of a great service that you stay clear of the young ladies of the company, both dancers and singers (this of course excludes La Carlotta, as she is no lady but rather an over-zealous cow), as they have much work to accomplish to be ready for the opening night. In fact, it would probably be for the best that you stay away from the opera house entirely. Let someone who knows something about music handle the production; a patron's job is simply to provide financial support, therefore your place is in an office, not the arts. Oh, and one more thing…_

Raoul's eyes were tiny green slits as he read the last lines of the letter.

_Since you are going out of your way to see my needs met, then you will understand that I am in need of a box for the opening night. I must confess, I do rather enjoy the view from your seat, Box Five…so thank you for being so understanding in this matter._

_Respectfully, O.G._

That was the last straw.

"What did it say, monsieur?" Andre asked, biting his lip and praying that the Vicomte would not explode, although he did look ready to commit murder.

"YOU!" Raoul bellowed to the waiter who had delivered the letter. "Who gave this to you?"

The waiter was startled. "I…I don't know, monsieur, the doorman gave it to me, said a black carriage delivered it, but that's all I know, I swear."

"A black carriage?" Firmin whispered. "Good God, it couldn't be, could it?"

"Who else could it be!" Andre gasped. "He must have heard us! He must have been watching us! How else could he have sent that note here?"

"Andre, I swear if you do not get a hold of yourself…" Raoul muttered in a most deadly tone. The younger manager quickly shut his mouth. "Fine," Raoul muttered through clipped lips. "I'll play his game, I'll let him believe he has the upper hand over this situation and that he can get away with ordering us about," he grasped his champagne glass tightly and downed its contents in a matter of seconds. "But in the end…the disaster will be _his_."

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Christine's blissful paradise is interrupted by worries and concerns of what the future holds. Meanwhile, Madame Giry makes her own chilling discovery...

_**Concern** _

Erik laid on his back, panting deeply, as the beauty that had been sitting above him collapsed against his chest, slick with perspiration from their lovemaking. God, he would never tire of this or cease to be amazed by this incredible woman.

Christine purred happily as she felt Erik's strong, warm arms, entwine around her, his fingers running lazy circles across her naked back. This was pure heaven, truly. All her life, she had never imagined that the man she would give her heart to, and who would love her in return, would resemble one of the romantic figures of her dark gothic novels. Never had she envisioned the hero of her dreams to be a man in a mask, casting his seductive spells over her with the power of his voice. And never…never had she imagined she would respond so eagerly to his passion.

"You learn quickly, my dear," Erik panted, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Both music and lovemaking…indeed, you are an eager student," he grinned wickedly, causing Christine's face to glow red.

"I had an excellent tutor," she whispered back, her face still bright, but a wicked smile of her own spreading.

Erik cocked an eyebrow at her words. "I do not recall teaching you _that_ , mademoiselle," he moaned, the image of Christine straddling his hips, slipping his hard cock deep inside her body, and riding him as if he were a prize-winning stud, imbedded deep within his memory.

Christine blushed even more, but giggled slightly as the same image haunted her. "True…but you did teach me how one can be creative," she whispered, her tongue flicking over one of his nipples, causing Erik to groan.

"Enough!" Erik growled, his arms locking around Christine and rolling over so she was deliciously crushed beneath him. Christine squealed and then giggled some more as she gazed up at her lover. Erik gazed back down at her and felt himself amazed once more, only now his heart swelled as he saw the love she had for him reflecting in the beautiful blue pools of her eyes. His fingers tenderly brushed a few mussed curls from her face, and he held his breath as he took in her beauty, her love, and her happiness. Was it possible that he, an ugly, horrifying, murdering monster, could cause such happiness, could inspire such love and passion? Never in his whole life had he believed such love, such beauty, could be his. And yet here she was, in his bed, in his arms, gazing at him with longing and desire. What was he going to do? How could he ever let her go?

"Erik?" Christine whispered, her voice drawing his attention back once more. One of her small hands was gently caressing the unmasked side of his face, and Erik could not help but lean into the touch.

"You make it impossible to stay focused my dear," he sighed, his voice teasing as his eyes caught hers once more.

Christine smiled at his words, but a part of her could not help but feel a little worried. She could tell something had bothered him in that faraway gaze he had just had. It was a worry that she too had been secretly harboring…

"As much as I would love to spend the whole day like this…I feel it would be wise that we resume our lessons," he sighed, slowly rising from the bed and reaching for his dressing gown.

Christine blushed and bit her lip as she felt Erik's body slip away from hers. She grasped the edges of the Persian blankets that adorned the bed and wrapped them tightly around her naked body, although not even the soft warmth of the blankets could entirely hold off the chill she was suddenly feeling. "Erik…is…is everything alright?" she asked, her voice soft, as if she could keep the worry out of it by speaking softly.

Erik glanced at her, his brow furrowed by her question. "Why do you ask?"

Christine looked down at her lap, a part of her dreading to ask this question. "I understand the managers are agreeing to perform the opera…"

"Yes," Erik answered shortly, still curious as to what was bothering her. "They have finally seen reason and must follow through with my instructions in order to avoid any sort of scandal with their ticket-holders."

Christine looked up, worry etched across her face. "Does it not seem strange to you that they simply agreed? They have been fighting it for so long, and then suddenly, they are in agreement?"

"What are you trying to say Christine?" Erik asked, his eyes narrowing. He could not help it that his tone sounded somewhat cold. The very thing he did not want to comprehend was upon him, however he had worked over half of his life on this opera. "My dear," he sighed, softening his tone, and coming towards the bed and sitting opposite of her. "Why don't you just say what's in your heart…you have never held back from me before, why is now so hard to speak your mind?"

Christine looked into his eyes and felt a smile slowly spread across her face. However it was a smile that contained sorrow. "I worry for you Erik…I worry that these men are plotting something."

Erik couldn't help but chuckle somewhat at her words. "Firmin and Andre are too stupid to plot my demise, if that is what's bothering you."

Christine didn't like it when Erik laughed at her worry for him, or when he threw caution to the wind. "Do not be so arrogant! You have said so yourself, the Vicomte de Chagny hates you! And I fear that after you embarrassed him at the masquerade, he will stop at nothing to seek his revenge!"

Erik frowned at these words. "Your faith in me, my dear, is overwhelming," he muttered with pure sarcasm, rising from the bed and walking away.

Christine groaned and quickly rose, clasping the blankets to her body. "I do not lack faith in you! I know you are clever, far cleverer than he, but I do not think it is so wise to simply disregard carefulness! He is the sort of person who will behave irrationally over the most irrational things, surely you realize that!"

Erik stood in the entryway between his bedchamber and the music chamber, his head turned just slightly to look over his shoulder. "He is the one who should be taking care," he whispered. "All of them…but especially him. He was lucky that I chose to spare him the night of the ball. That public display of embarrassment was a warning; if he is wise, he will stay away from the opera house."

Christine stood just behind Erik, her small hands reaching out to his arm. "But that is my worry, he is not wise Erik, how could he be? No man is wise when vengeance clouds the brain."

His eyes narrowed further at these words and he moved away from her into the music chamber. "We've wasted far too much time," he barked, seating himself at the piano. "There is still much to do and now we have limited time to do it. Come, we shall begin with Act II," he ordered, his experienced fingers already flying across the piano.

Christine, however, stood exactly where she was, not moving into the music chamber, her face still etched with worry. Erik glanced up at the entryway, his annoyance spreading like wildfire. "Christine, I'm not in the mood to play games, so come–"

"What happens after _Don Juan_ , Erik?"

Her question practically stopped his breathing. He had to shake his head somewhat to regain consciousness. "W-w-what?"

"What happens after _Don Juan Triumphant_ is performed?" she asked again, her eyes locked with his. "Or before that, even. What happens when the time comes that…that I need to go above to rehearse?"

It was a question Erik had been dreading to face for weeks. No, more than that. Before they both gave way to the passion that was crashing inside them, before he first felt her lips touch his, perhaps before they began to grow as friends…Erik had been dreading this question, and purposefully had been avoiding even the mere thought of it. It seemed so long ago that he had made that pact with Christine, the deal to release her should she allow him to train her voice and star in his opera. Now his opera was going to be performed! And yet, for the first time in his life, Erik was regretting it…

"When the time is right, you will be ready to rehearse with them and perform…but that time is not now," Erik said simply, brushing the worries under the rug once more.

Christine's eyes filled with sadness at these words. She did not know what she wanted to hear, but simply denying her question was certainly not what she wanted. She had not forgotten their bargain, however at the time they made it, Christine longed for her freedom! Now…now things were so much more complicated. She loved her father, and dearly missed him. She worried about him and prayed that wherever he was, he was all right. But Erik…she had fallen in love with her captor, with the infamous Phantom himself! And the thought of having to leave him and this paradise they had created beneath the earth seemed too much to bear…

"I…I don't feel very well, Erik…" she whispered, her hand rising to her head and softly touching her face. She felt hot and flushed, and things were beginning to spin. "I'm sorry…I…I don't think I will be able to sing…f-f-forgive me…"

Erik bolted to his feet when he noticed Christine's eyes roll back, and flew to her side just in time to catch her as she crumpled to the floor.

 

She heard singing. A rich tender voice in a distance, soothing her with sweet words, words to a song she had never heard before, and yet…she knew it. It was a song she had never heard with her ears, but one her heart seemed to know, one that filled her dreams. An enchanting song filled with longing, desire, and the promise of everlasting love.

"You alone can make my song take flight…"

Christine's eyes fluttered open then, the blurred image of a face looming close to hers, a face that was only half revealed, while the other half hid beneath a white mask. For some, it would be a startling image to awake to, but for Christine, it was an image that made her heart soar.

"Welcome back," Erik softly whispered, a tender smile spreading across his face, however it was also etched with sadness. "How are you feeling?"

Christine looked around, her eyes filled with confusion. She remembered very little of what had happened, but she was sure she had not been in her chamber. Yet here she was, lying in her bed, the lace curtains drawn around them and the warm fire glowing brightly in her fireplace. She looked up at Erik again, who was lying next to her, although he was propped up on his elbow, his fingers tenderly running over her right cheek as he gazed down at her. "How…what…?" she asked, trying to sit up, but her head still felt heavy.

"Shhh…" he whispered. "It's alright, just rest yourself." It was amazing at how tender he could be, she thought. She looked up at him again and saw the love in his eyes, as well as the worry. Gone was the ferocious mad man that filled the stories of the ballet, gone was the musical task-master that demanded perfection; the man she loved lay next to her, a man who by no means was a monster, despite his short temper and scarred face. For this was a man that the stories did not know, a man who showed tenderness, concern, and compassion; a man who was indeed capable of love.

"I…I don't remember much," she confessed, feeling foolish for her lack of memory.

Erik smiled softly and bent forward to kiss her forehead. "You fainted and gave me quite a scare," Erik murmured against her skin. True, it had been most frightening; the only other time he recalled Christine fainting was when he took her prisoner so long ago. Since then, she had proven to him many times that she was strong, independent, and not the sort of woman who gave way to fainting spells. Ladies of high fashion did it all the time, he had seen it many times throughout his years at the opera, but normally they were faking or had very weak nerves. Not his Christine, she was neither of those things. But when he saw her crumple before him then, it felt as if someone had buried a knife deep into his chest. If he had any doubts before, they had all been dashed in that moment.

He could not live without her.

Yes, he had made the promises once upon a time to release her, should she allow him to teach her and perform in his opera, but that was before he knew it was possible to feel love…and to be loved in return. Now, the thing he had been working so hard on for years was becoming something he was dreading, and Christine's questions increased that dread.

Aminta was a part she was born to play, he could not imagine another playing it, nor did he want to. He had written the opera prior to knowing Christine, but she had created Aminta, the true Aminta.

But the time would come when she would need to go above and rehearse the opera with the rest of the cast. And then what? People would wonder where she had been all this time, and they would speculate as to why he, the Phantom of the Opera, chose her to play the part. They would be curious as to know how she learned to sing so beautifully, and they would want to know why the Phantom favored her to play the leading female role in his opera. When he wrote his notes he thought nothing of it, he didn't care as to what they thought so long as they did their jobs…but now he realized he was putting his beloved Christine at risk. They would question her; perhaps threaten her if she did not tell them about the Phantom.

Erik's blood grew cold at the thought of his beautiful Christine being threatened by the likes of the Vicomte. He meant what he said at the masquerade ball; if the Vicomte ever laid a hand on her, he would kill him, long and slowly.

And what would happen after the opera had been performed? Erik could not imagine now ever saying goodbye forever to Christine. And then there was the promise he had made to find her father. Erik felt ashamed, for while he had Gustave and Jacque exploring the streets of Paris long after darkness filled the city, he had not been doing his part with searching for the old man. When he was not with Christine, Erik spent all his time writing notes and inspecting the opera house, making sure things were going as he had instructed. But now, as he looked at Christine's lovely face, he felt deep shame for the pain he had caused her and for raising her hopes. Gustave and Jacque were extremely limited in how far they could search, but Erik could do more, much more; despite his face, he at least was gifted without having any other physical disfigurements.

"Erik?"

He gasped as he was brought out of his thoughts by the soft touch of her small hand on his cheek. His amber eyes met hers, beautiful and blue, and he felt his heart swell with both longing and despair. He could not let her go, despite the promises he had made. And yet, he could never cage her either; he knew what it was like to be in a cage, and he could never inflict that upon her and risk twisting her love for him into resentment.

"Erik, what's wrong?" she whispered, sitting up now, her eyes lit with concern.

He gazed into her eyes and forced a smile, an idea instantly coming to him. "Nothing that a hot bath cannot fix."

Christine's brow furrowed with confusion. "A hot bath? You have a bathing tub?"

Erik smiled and shook his head. "No, I actually have something better, another secret of my lair that I will now share with you."

Before Christine could ask what he meant, he scooped her up and proceeded to carry her out of the chamber. "W-w-w-where are we going?" Christine asked, shivering somewhat as the cold air from the tunnels hit her skin. She realized then, that she was still wrapped in the blanket from Erik's bed.

He smiled down at her and simply whispered, "you'll see."

Christine still had many questions, however the warmth and safety that she was feeling from Erik's arms was extremely intoxicating, almost as intoxicating as his voice. She found her head falling to his shoulder, and her arms twined around his neck as he carried her through dark passages she was unfamiliar with. For now, she would lay her questions aside, and simply focus on the moment she had with this man. Yes, that would be for the best…

Erik carried her through cold tunnels that were so dark that even he, whose night vision was far advanced from a mere man's, had to squint his eyes in order to see where he was going. "We are almost there," he assured her as he felt her shiver slightly. "And it will be worth it, I promise."

Christine believed him, but she still clung to him tightly. "I would be lost if I came here," she whispered.

Erik's arms tightened even more. "That is why you have an experienced guide," he murmured, causing a seductive shiver to run down her spine. "Do you remember the old catacombs I once pointed out to you?"

Christine thought for a minute, and then recalled how on the first time they traveled by boat, the first time Erik took her to the roof, they rowed past a dark tunnel that he told her led to the old catacombs beneath Paris. The seductive shiver Erik had sent through her earlier changed. "Do not tell me we are inside those?"

Erik chuckled softly, his arms tightening even more. "Have no fear, my sweet. Yes, we are in the tunnel that leads to them, however, there are no bones around us…I will not take us that far, I promise."

She was grateful for that piece of news, however she was still curious as to where exactly they were heading, not to mention Erik's statement about a bath.

"Ah, here we are," he announced, coming to a stop. "Now I'll need to put you down for a moment…but keep the blanket wrapped tightly around you, I will be quick," he informed, before setting her on her feet.

Christine still felt a little wobbly, so she quickly sat down, the blanket clung tightly around her, as she heard Erik's footsteps echo off the tunnel's walls. She didn't have long to wonder where they were exactly, for a light glowed softly from an oil lamp that lay just to her left. Erik was lighting several lamps that hung from the cavern's walls, and she gasped as she saw a pool just before them. It was small, much like the tiny pool that was inside her chamber. Yet she noticed something that set it apart from the other pool as well…it was bubbling softly.

"Believe it or not, I discovered a hot spring in this passage many years ago," Erik informed her as he finished lighting the lamps. "Unusual yes, but I've long since learned not to be too surprised by the secrets that the opera house holds."

Christine blushed as Erik approached her, removing the dressing gown he still wore from earlier. His naked form glowed softly in the firelight, and Christine felt her cheeks glow as well. Erik felt no shame, and knew that Christine's blush, which was very obvious despite the shadows that danced across her face from the oil lamps, was not out of embarrassment but out of her innocence. No matter how many times they made love, she would always be innocent, for her love was pure. Erik felt both his heart swell at the thought, as well as his arousal.

"Come," he whispered, reaching for her and lifting her up again. Christine did not protest while he removed the blanket from her body, exposing her naked flesh once more, however the glow of her blush quickly spread, and she immediately felt that tingling return between her thighs.

She gasped as she first felt the warm waters lap at her body. Erik also sighed, his arms still holding her close. "You should have told me about this ages ago," she giggled as she turned away from him and stretched her body against his.

Erik smiled and closed his eyes briefly as both the sensation of the water and Christine's naked body ran over him. "Yes, you're quite right…but better late than never," he whispered against her ear, causing her to whimper as his hands were already moving over her flesh.

"Erik…" she moaned as she felt his palms cover her breasts, his calloused fingers gently rolling her nipples. "What is this spell you have cast over me?"

Erik smiled, however his hands stilled for a moment. "I have a confession to make, Christine," he whispered, his hands moving to her shoulders and turning her to face him. The desire that had clouded her eyes disappeared and was replaced once more with worry.

Erik looked at the beautiful woman before him, a part of him screaming to tell her his worries, his fears of losing her, of wanting her to never leave him but to forever remain by his side. However, the other part of him was telling him to not ruin this moment, that it was better to wait. He felt weak as he gave in to the second voice.

"On the night I gave you the gowns," he whispered, "I saw you bathing in the lagoon."

That was not what Christine had been expecting to hear, however her whole face paled before glowing the deepest red imaginable. "You…you s-s-saw me n-naked!" she gasped.

Erik tried to keep a straight face, but found it difficult from the delightful flush of her cheek. "I did not mean to spy, and I swear to you that the next time I saw your beautiful body was the night we first made love," he felt a growl rise deep in his throat at the way she blushed even more at these words.

Christine didn't know what to say, and scolding him was clearly foolish, for after all, he had seen her naked many times since. However, a part of her was curious if that was all he had wanted to say. The tone of his voice now seemed filled with merriment, yet prior, it sounded sad…desperate even.

She shook her head, brushing the worries off, and gasped as she felt Erik's arms wrap around her and press her back against one of the sides of the pool. "Do you have any idea of what you do to me?" he growled softly, his mouth already ravishing her throat. Christine whimpered and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing him closer, her legs moving to wrap around his waist.

Erik was pleased to feel her eagerness, and when he looked into her eyes he saw the same fierce passion that he was feeling. He could not hold himself back, and when he saw Christine's desire, he did not try. His fingers moved to part the petals between her thighs, and in a quick motion, buried his cock once more inside her body.

The two of them clung to each other as they made love in the pool, the warm water turning hot as it splashed and lapped around them. Perhaps in their passionate bliss they could somehow make reality stop…

* * *

 

It was a calm January afternoon. François, the private investigator that had helped the Vicomte de Chagny with learning the whereabouts of the elusive Christine Daae, was settling himself down at his desk, sipping a strong cup of spiced tea to push away the cold that filled his tiny office, when he heard shouting coming from the hall just outside.

"No! I'm sorry Madame, but he's busy! Please, I shall tell him you stopped by–"

"Stand aside and let me through!"

"Please Madame! At least let me announce you, please–"

But the woman who had been arguing with the chambermaid threw open the door to François' tiny office, and shoved her way inside, despite the maid's protests.

François' eyes widened at the uninvited guest who now stood before him, dressed from head to toe in her matronly black, a netted veil covering her face, and a scowl that looked even darker, underneath. He recognized her at once. "Madame Giry! I um…I must say…this is an unexpected surprise–"

"Shut your mouth and sit down!" the woman barked, to which the private investigator immediately obeyed.

The chambermaid gave a weak curtsy to her employer. "I'm sorry, monsieur, I tried to stop her, but–"

"It's alright, Lucille," François reassured, although he did not take his eyes off the grim-looking ballet mistress. "Why don't you go and prepare a cup of tea for my guest."

"Don't bother," Madame Giry snapped. "I won't be staying for very long. Leave us!" she bellowed, to which the chambermaid gave a small shriek before quickly shutting the office door. She turned her attention back to François who was loosening the collar of his shirt so that he could swallow the nervous lump in his throat. "Hard at work, I see," she grumbled, eyeing the cup of tea he had been sipping as well as the messy desk, which was horribly unorganized. "Perhaps now I can begin to see why you were unable to do the job I hired you to do."

"Madame–"

"SILENCE!" Madame Giry barked, and as before, François shrank back, his mouth closed and his face pale. She looked at him with utter disgust, causing icy shivers to course down his spine. Finally, she sat down at a chair across from his desk, however her focus never left his pale face. "Understand now, that until I ask you to speak, you will remain silent," she hissed, before lifting the veil. Francois simply nodded his head, his whole body frozen with fear. Madame Giry eyed the private investigator before speaking, the coldness in her expression never ceasing.

"I understand you were at the Paris Opera House not so long ago," she began.

"Madame, let me explain, I–"

"A simple 'yes or no' will suffice!" she hissed, to which Francois immediately squeaked, and then numbly nodded his head.

Madame Giry's features relaxed somewhat, however her back remained rigid and straight, the icy fire in her eyes still burning for satisfaction. "I learned of your 'visits' from a few stage hands. I overheard them talking about a private investigator…who had come to learn about the Phantom. When I spoke with them, they mentioned the questions you had asked…all pertaining around Christine Daae."

Francois could not meet the woman's eyes; his very soul would freeze at the simple glance.

Madame Giry continued. "At first, I thought perhaps you were still doing research for my case, although I had fired you some time before hand," she growled. "However, what intrigued me was learning that you were also curious about the 'Phantom of the Opera'. I know that the managers did not hire anyone to ask questions about the Phantom, and I certainly didn't hire you to ask about him, in fact I mentioned nothing of the Phantom! And yet you were there, days after you had been fired. That is most loyal service…however I do not think it was service for me."

Francois swallowed and carefully glanced up at the dark matron before him. She held his gaze and slowly rose from her chair, her palms resting on his desk as she leaned forward, like a bat ready to swoop down and seize its prey. "Now tell me the truth, monsieur," she hissed. "Were you working for someone else?"

He glanced at her, his mouth open but no sound coming out. Madame Giry leaned back away from the desk, her eyes still hard and cold however. "You may speak now," she sighed with a wave of her hand. "In fact, I'll make it even simpler for you. Answer this question for me. Were you hired by the Vicomte de Chagny?" she paused and locked her eyes with his once more. "A simple 'yes or no' shall suffice."

Francois tried to keep his calm; after all, he did not wish to expose his highest paying client. However, he did not wish to anger the ballet mistress either, especially after he felt the sting of her icy stare. "I…that is…" he swallowed hard, trying to think of what would be the appropriate thing to say. "I thought…well, I learned that the last anyone had seen of Daae or his daughter was at the opera house, so perhaps…perhaps someone there would know of their whereabouts–"

"STOP LYING TO ME!" she shouted, causing Francois to shrink back in his chair.

Madame Giry was furious, and she began pacing the room like a caged animal. "Let me tell you what I think, monsieur," she growled. "I think the Vicomte de Chagny hired you, not out of concern to know the whereabouts of Monsieur Daae or his charming daughter, but mainly because he wanted one thing and one thing only," she eyed him with great suspicion. "I know that Mademoiselle Daae 'refused' the Vicomte, and the Vicomte is not one used to rejection, the pompous arrogant ass."

Francois gasped at Madame Giry's language, as well as who she was speaking of. "It seems like a lot of trouble, however, to hire a private investigator to find a girl for him to bed. Which leads me to two conclusions," she leaned over the desk once more. "Either the Vicomte's desire to seek revenge against the Phantom has truly made him mad…or there is something about Christine Daae that I am unaware, but that you learned…and that you're going to tell me, right now," she threatened.

Francois sat up in his chair, trying to look braver than he felt. "Now see here, madam, I…I will not be intimidated! I–"

Madame Giry dropped a package of money onto his desk. "Will 500 franks help you answer?"

Francois stared at the money, his eyes wide with disbelief, both at his good fortune, as well as Madame Giry's offer to pay him for information right now! It wasn't nearly as much as the Vicomte had paid him, however it was still 500 franks! He reached for the package, but she snatched it before he could lay his hands on it. "Answers first," she hissed, waving the package before him to entice him to speak.

Like Judas, Francois eagerly answered. "The Vicomte de Chagny learned of your interest in discovering Daae and his daughter. He did not inform me as to why he wished to discover the pair, but he did hire me for that reason. I soon learned that the night of the opening gala was the last anyone had seen of them."

Madame Giry nodded her head, knowing that indeed this was true. She had gone to the apartment both Christine and her father had been keeping since they came to Paris, however she was shocked to learn that Christine was not there. For a week she kept visiting the apartment, hoping to find the young woman, but there was no sign. She spoke with the land lady, hoping that perhaps she had seen the girl, however her fears grew when she learned that the woman hadn't seen either Christine or her father since they had left for the opera house on the day of the opening gala.

"So I thought perhaps it would be for the best to inquire after the two of them at the Paris Opera House itself," he continued.

Madame Giry eyed him suspiciously. "Why did you tell the stage hands you were investigating the Phantom?"

Francois had to admit he found it curious that Madame Giry was worried about the Phantom. However, he chose it was simply because she worked at the opera house, and like all the others, she too, was superstitious. "The Vicomte informed me that he and the managers would be conducting an investigation as to who was sending messages as the so-called Phantom. He thought it would be the perfect disguise."

Madame Giry's eyes narrowed at Francois' revelation behind the plot by the managers and the Vicomte. So that explained the whole masquerade ball–it had been a ruse to capture Erik, however until the night of the ball, she had a good feeling none of them believed that the actual Phantom was indeed the Phantom himself! However, just because they were not prepared on the night of the ball did not mean they would be so clumsy in the future. Erik was in danger, whether he knew it or not…

"What else did you learn?" she snapped.

Francois gasped and quickly continued. "Well, the stage hands told me that they had seen both Daae and the girl, that Daae had gone through a trap door backstage to fetch a prop…however they had warned him that he would be entering the 'Phantom's lair' and if he came back, would not return…alive."

Madame Giry's eyes closed for a second. It was as she feared; Erik did not confirm for her that Daae had met the Phantom's wrath, but everything pointed to that suspicion as being the most likely. "You said they saw the girl?" she inquired, hoping to hear some good news, however dreading what he would tell her.

Francois nodded his head. "Apparently she approached them after…after she had been released from her duties. She asked if they had seen her father, and when they told her, she grabbed an oil lamp and also disappeared below."

Madame Giry sprung to her feet, her eyes wide and her pale face as white as a ghost. "W-w-w-what?"

Francois was startled by Madame Giry's reaction. "Y-yes…that was the last anyone has seen of her. Like her father, she disappeared beneath the opera house, and no one has seen her since…however, those men could have been drunk, it is possible, after all, it does seem far fetched that she became a victim of the Phantom's–"

"SILENCE!" Madame Giry barked, to which Francois immediately obeyed. Christine had gone below…in a brave attempt to find her father; she had gone below to meet her doom, to become another victim of Erik's wrath, to–

Wait.

Images from the masquerade ball came flooding back. Images of Erik, dressed as Red Death, dancing with a girl in a beautiful gold gown. He was very possessive of the girl…she had been dancing with the Vicomte, but Erik took her from him. At first she had simply thought it was Erik's way of embarrassing Raoul, but as she thought about the girl…her hair, dark and curly, her height small, her figure somewhat voluptuous…was it possible? When Erik made his grand exit, she did not recall seeing the girl either. Had Erik taken her? Was the girl…Christine?

Yes. Christine had disappeared beneath the opera house…and was now Erik's prisoner.

Good God, was it possible for him to sink to such depths?

"I thank you for your information, monsieur," Madame Giry murmured, moving towards the door.

Francois rose to his feet, his eyes filled with worry as he was seeing his money disappear with her. "Wait! See here, you promised to pay me!"

Without another look, she tossed him the package, to which Francois greedily grabbed. However, his happy smile fell quickly, as he realized that the money inside the package was simply bits and pieces of blank paper. Before he could shout for her to return at once and pay him with proper money, her carriage was already gone. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Giry spies on the Vicomte, while the Phantom spies on the Opera House. Sadly, Erik's eyes are too busy being filled with happy possibilities, that he is blinded to the truth, that threatens to unfold...

_**Spying** _

She watched him like a predator, hidden deep in the safety of the shadows. She watched him emerge from the building, a satisfied smirk creased across his handsome lips. He put his hat on, followed by his gloves, and then pulled the collar of his great coat up around his chin, shielding the winter wind from his face. His carriage was pulled in front of the building, anxiously awaiting his arrival, however before he stepped inside, he turned his head in her direction, the smirk disappearing and being replaced with a creased brow of suspicion. The coachman asked him if anything was wrong, and with a shrug of the shoulders, the Vicomte de Chagny quickly climbed inside, and the carriage immediately pulled away.

Madame Giry waited till the carriage was out of sight before emerging from her shadowed hiding place. Despite the strong winter winds or the heavy snow that was falling, she cared not, and with great strides, walked directly up the steps of the building her adversary had emerged from.

It was late, and there few police inside the station, but they all whirled their heads as the matron of the ballet, dressed in her traditional black, stood in the doorway.

She scowled at each of them, her eyes moving about and surveying the room. Ever since her encounter with Monsieur François, Madame Giry had been spying on the activities of the Vicomte. To her great surprise, he did not visit the opera house as often as he had done in the past. She had a growing suspicion that he was now sending notes of his own to the managers, yet she had been unable to retrieve or intercept the letters herself. And she also had a growing suspicion that Raoul was giving instructions for his letters to be burned immediately upon reading them, as large piles of burnt paper were appearing in the office fireplace. No, whatever game the Vicomte de Chagny was playing, he was being clever. And while he was giving nothing about himself away at the opera house, she had noticed that he was now frequenting the police station more often than one of fashionable society does. She had spied him entering this place three times thus far, and tonight she intended to learn why.

"May I help you, madam?" an officer timidly asked. He practically shrank from the cold stare he received. "Is s-s-something amiss?"

She removed her gloves and lifted the black-netted veil that covered her face. "I wish to know the business of the Vicomte de Chagny," she stated quite bluntly.

Several of the officers who were present practically gasped in unison. The silence was extremely thick. "I…I b-b-b-beg your p-p-pardon?"

"You heard what I said," she murmured, her voice low and dangerous. "Tell me why the Vicomte de Chagny frequents this place as often as he does. What is his business here? What information are you providing for him? I demand to know!"

Her voice began as soft as a whisper and had risen to a powerful bark. The officer with whom she had been speaking to paled at her words, and then turned his head, crying out, "Inspector LeDue! Inspector LeDue!"

Within a few seconds, the chief inspector emerged, worry etched across his face from the sound of the officer's voice. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, looking about frantically, but then his eyes fell upon Madame Giry, who was now giving him an icy stare. No further questions were needed; he knew the source of his officer's distress.

"May I help you, madam?" LeDue asked politely, but also standing straight and tall, his chin high as if trying to intimidate her with his position.

It wouldn't work.

"I demand to know why the Vicomte de Chagny has been coming here. What business does he have with you?"

LeDue was shocked by her question, but he quickly hid it. "I beg your pardon madam…but the Vicomte de Chagny has not been here," he answered calmly.

Madame Giry's eyes narrowed into angry cold slits. "Do not lie to me, inspector. I am no fool you can easily dupe. I have watched the Vicomte, I know his carriage, and it was outside your station. I have seen him emerge from this place three times this week. Which means you either are an idiot for not recognizing him, or…" she lowered her voice to a dangerous level, "you are lying for him. And I am believing it is the latter…"

LeDue kept his head held high, however his eyes betrayed him as they flashed a brief light of worry at her words. "Frankly madam, it is quite disturbing that you believe to have seen the Vicomte de Chagny when I assure you, he has not been here, but even more than that, that you claim without any reservation, that you have been spying on him! If anyone has been committing some sort of criminal activity, it sounds as if it is you!"

Madame Giry merely smiled coldly at LeDue's words, a reaction he had not anticipated. "I never accused the Vicomte of criminal activity…such an interesting choice of words…"

LeDue paled. "I…now see her madam, I…I never once revealed–I mean assumed…oh damn it!" he hissed. "The Vicomte has not been here! And even if he had, I would not reveal his reasons, as they are confidential matters! You forget that I am a man of the law and must uphold the rights of our citizens!"

Madame Giry eyed LeDue as he finished his statement and clasped his hands behind his back, his chin lifted high again and his eyes matching the very coldness her own possessed. "Very well," she sighed, shocking them all as she turned to leave the station. LeDue almost lost his balance from how rigid his legs had been. He stared at the retreating figure of Madame Giry with utter surprise. However, that surprise was short lived, as she turned and flashed them all one last hard cold stare. "You're right, inspector…you are indeed a man of the law…I just hope you remember that in your next meeting with the Vicomte de Chagny."

None of the officers moved after she departed; they were afraid she might come back! Finally, LeDue turned toward one of his officers and said quite sternly, "Send a message to the Vicomte de Chagny at once…tell him he is being watched and that he needs to lesson his visits here," he ordered.

The officer nodded his head. "Who do you suppose she was, inspector?"

LeDue gazed out the door as the woman disappeared once more into the shadows. A sudden shiver went down his spine, and it wasn't from the cold. "I don't know…nor do I really wish to find out."

 

* * *

 

"I HATE THIS OPERA!" Carlotta screeched in the midst of rehearsal. All the other chorus members who were going through warm-ups, immediately stopped as the diva picked up an orchestra member's trumpet and threw it through one of the backdrops.

The conductor gasped at her actions before losing his own temper. "Now see her, senora! You can not simply do that with musical instruments!"

If Piangi had not been there to hold her back, she would have launched herself at the conductor and rip his eyes out. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE WORTHLESS SHIT?" she screamed, trying to wrestle Piangi's arms off. Several stagehands realized the effort Piangi was undergoing with trying to hold back the demon diva, and quickly rushed to the tenor's side to also hold the possessed woman at bay. "I AM A GREAT STAR! I SHOULD BE IN THIS OPERA! PEOPLE PAY TO SEE ME PERFORM, NOT SOME HORRID, MODERN, DISGUSTING PIECE OF FILTH THAT DARES TO CALL ITSELF MUSIC!"

The conductor paled at her words and anxiously, along with half the cast on stage, began looking around and over his head. "Senora, do not say such things when the composer is present!" he hissed.

Carlotta, who was now being held back by four men, retorted, "the composer is not here! AND I WILL SAY WHATEVER I DAMN PLEASE!"

Meg Giry, who had been standing off to the side with several of the other ballet girls, said exactly what everyone else was thinking. "Are you certain of that, senora?"

Carlotta glared at the girl and then began to curse in her native Italian. All four men dragged the sputtering prima donna off the stage with great effort, while everyone else continued to look about nervously for fear of upsetting unseen parties. "L-l-let's continue with rehearsing," the conductor stuttered nervously, glancing about one last time.

High above the stage, hidden in the shadows of the catwalk, Erik watched as the chorus and ballet rehearsed. He was pleased with the progress they had made, especially that of the orchestra, however the ballet was still off by several notes, not to mention he could tell several basses were off key as well. He demanded perfection, and he was going to have it for his masterpiece.

He moved about the high catwalk with great ease, eyeing every little detail. The sets were much better than before, he was pleased with the work of the stagehands. There were still issues of lighting, however that could wait till the approach of opening night. Yet as he inspected all the details, he could not suppress the smile that was bursting forth as the delightful memory of Carlotta's rage returned. He remembered the day the news was delivered that she would be playing an insignificant role in his opera; the ground was littered with shattered fragments from whatever she could throw. Pity that all the screaming she mustered did not cause her to lose her voice. Still, he could not deny the pleasure he felt when she was reminded, once more, that she was virtually nothing in his opera.

Yes, things were vastly improving, however there was still a great deal to accomplish. Including the issue of introducing Christine to rehearsals.

Erik's amusement changed to dread once more. The impending doom of this realization was becoming harder and harder to deny.

He recalled the sickening memory of watching her faint before him like a withered flower. When he caught her, she felt so limp and so frail…

Lifeless.

He thought he had tasted fear in the past; the fear of being put on display, the fear of being tortured, the fear of being discovered by intruders; no, none of that measured up to the fear he felt at the thought of losing Christine forever. His world would not be the same without her, music would not be the same without her…his life was never going to be the same again.

Once upon a time, he thought music was the only thing that could give him joy. He knew now, that without Christine, music held no joy, no beauty, no life. He needed her just as a man needs air to breathe. He needed her to live…for life was not worth living without Christine.

A new memory stirred within him, one that was far happier and of complete bliss. It was but a few nights ago, when they were both lying in her bed, tangled within its sheets and one another's limbs. Her head was pillowed against his chest, her hair filling his nostrils with its sweet perfume. The fire from her fireplace glowed and cast golden shadows upon their naked bodies. No words were spoken, yet none were needed. Until the softest sound interrupted their peaceful silence…

Humming. The sweetest, softest music he had ever heard. Where was it coming from? What could make such a sound?

And then he realized that the humming was coming from Christine.

"What is that?" he whispered, his fingers curling over her right hand, which lay atop his chest. "That tune…I am not familiar with it…"

Christine turned a bright red when she realized that he had heard her. She had not even been fully aware that she had been singing! "I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep–"

"With such an angel beside me?" he murmured, his hand cradling hers and lifting it to his lips. "Please, tell me what you were humming, it was so beautiful…"

Christine moved her head so that she could look up into his amber eyes. Her heart practically burst from the love she saw reflected in those tiger-eyes. "When I was little, my mother sang me a lullaby to calm my fears. You see…she became very sick one winter, so sick that both Papa and I were afraid she was going to die. She did not die that winter, however the sickness forever weakened her heart…" she sadly murmured. "I was so scared, and I prayed as hard as I could every night, but I was still afraid. And then…one night she called me to her bedside, and she whispered to me, 'Christine, do not fear. The Angel of Music will watch over you'."

Erik's brow furrowed at her words. "The Angel of Music? Didn't you–"

"Yes," Christine blushed, but smiled at the memory. "The night we saw Handel's _Messiah_ , I toasted to the Angel of Music. You see, Papa had once told me that there were different angels in heaven, and one of those angels was the Angel of Music. My mother remembered this too, and told me that the Angel of Music watches over those whose heart is pure as song. And then she sang to me, a tune I had heard Papa play many times, but I had never believed meant anything…until then."

Erik's eyes were filled with tenderness, and one hand gently stroked a fallen curl from her cheek. "Sing it for me?" he softly pleaded.

Even in the firelight, Erik could tell Christine was blushing. He thought he would have to ask once again, but then the most beautiful sound emerged from her perfect throat.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian,  
Crown to me your glory…  
Angel of Music, hide no longer,  
Secret and strange angel…"

Erik thought his heart might melt from the tender chords her voice sang. Never had he heard anything more beautiful in his whole wretched existence. He was amazed to feel a tear drip from his right eye. "Christine…" he finally murmured after a long reverent pause. "That…I have never heard anything so…" his voice was filled with such emotion from the beauty of her music.

Christine could hear the emotion in his voice. Her fingers flew to his lips and she smiled as his eyes caught hers. "I…I know you thought me strange for toasting to the Angel of Music that night," she whispered, her eyes bashfully looking away, briefly, before returning to gaze into his. "But…the reason I did…oh you will think me so foolish for this," she sighed, attempting to look away, but Erik's fingers caught her chin.

"Please tell me," he simply whispered.

Christine let out a shaky breath and smiled. "Well…I…I believe you are my angel…the Angel of Music," she finally revealed.

Erik's brow creased with confusion. "I am the Angel of Music?"

Christine could not help but giggle at his expression. "Yes, you."

Erik cocked one brow up. "Perhaps you are unfamiliar with how angels look. I do not think I hardly fit the description–"

"You have always watched over me, protecting me from any harm, guiding me and revealing to me the glory of my dreams," her fingers softly ran over his unmasked cheek. "Yes Erik…you are my angel."

Erik stared back at her in amazement. He opened his mouth to speak, but was rendered silent by the soft caresses her fingers were running over his mask. "Erik…I love you with my whole heart, every part of you…"

"Christine…"

"Please," she softly pleaded, her eyes full of hope as she locked them with his. "Do not hide from me? Let me see all of you."

Erik froze at her request. He knew she had seen him before without his mask, and he remembered that she did not flinch those other times…but what if that broke the spell? What if he removed the mask and then she realized she had willingly bedded a monster? "Christine, I…I am afraid…" his voice was so soft.

Christine's fingers ceased their caresses and she looked deeply into his eyes, her love there for him to see, begging for him to trust her, begging for him to never hide from her again. She loved him, every part of him, including the scars on his flesh, as well as on his soul. He tried to avoid her eyes, those oceans of beauty where he often lost himself, but he could not do so, not when he could feel her warm inviting gaze. She saw his fear, but she offered comfort. She was asking for trust, and she was giving him love. He had not been able to deny her anything, and she had asked for so little.

He nodded his head and held his breath as he felt the mask slowly being lifted away.

His tangled and ruined flesh lay there for the whole world to see, to ridicule, and to spit upon. In the depths of his memory he could hear the screams of women and the mocking laughter of men. He waited, waited for her scream to join the din…

But instead, he felt the softest touch of silk. His eyes flew open as he realized that the touch had come from Christine's lips. He let out a long ragged breath as he felt her perfect pink tongue trace one scar, and then gasped as the feel of her lips once more lingered over his mangled flesh.

He was shocked to see that her eyes were swimming with tears just as his were. He groaned as he felt her feather soft fingers touch his disfigured skin, and with an oath of passion, he caught her beautiful face in his hands and brought her lips down upon his. He drank her in deeply and felt his body harden once more. He let out a growl of delight as he felt her perfect fingers guide him into her body, and they both made love, hot and desperate, as if their very lives depended upon it.

In so many ways, it did…

Erik let out a long shaky sigh as the memory lingered, before being interrupted by another of Carlotta's screams. He growled and glared down at the diva as once more, she stalked on stage, Piangi at her heels, begging for her to see reason, which was like begging a fish to leap of the water and walk. True, he enjoyed driving the diva mad, but any more of her shrieking and he would be hanging her like one of the many sandbags from the curtains.

He heard the sound of footsteps nearby and glanced over his shoulder, catching the eyes of a frightened stagehand. Without a word, Erik swirled his cape around him and leapt into the nearby shadows just as the man was crying out, "The Phantom! I…I've seen the Phantom!"

Concealed by the blackness of shadow, Erik retreated through one of his many secret passages that led to the forbidden depths of his lair. He walked briskly, a determined look alight in his eyes, however it had nothing to do with the opera rehearsal.

No, he was thinking about Christine and what must be done. The truth of the matter was that if Christine didn't play the part of Aminta, Carlotta would snatch it up and thus ruin everything. And frankly, he'd rather burn his score (along with the whole opera house) than see, let alone hear, Carlotta's harpy voice sing Aminta's songs. Besides, Christine had earned her right to play Aminta; he was the true manager of this opera, not those two fops, and as far as he was concerned, she had auditioned, practiced, and transformed the role into her own creation. Plus, he was the composer as well as the director…and he wanted no other but Christine in his opera.

Yet there still remained the problem of what would happen after she went above. Also, where would she go? He cursed himself for not being able to find her father, yet even if he had, where would they stay? They had little money, if any, and would not be able to afford even the cheapest of flats. Quite frankly, Erik did not like the idea of his precious Christine sleeping on a lice-infested bed or freezing from the lack of heat that was sure to be found in such places. And what if the old man could not be found? It broke Erik's heart at the thought of having to tell Christine that he had failed her in finding her father; perhaps she could forgive him one day, but he would never be able to forgive himself for the sorrow he would have caused her. What then? She would be penniless, homeless, a spinster with no family to speak of. For many women in such situations, there was only one alternative, and Erik's blood turned to ice at the horrible thought of his Christine wearing the meager garb of a prostitute.

No, he could not–he WOULD not allow Christine to face such horrors on her own. He loved her, he needed her, he did not want to know what it was like to live without her!

…And then a sudden thought struck him.

What if she stayed with him? Yes, she could stay at the opera house with him while rehearsals went on…and perhaps after the opera as well.

Even if his opera flopped, he had no doubts that she would become a star over night. People would soon forget all about La Carlotta; let the harpy make her threats and leave for Vienna or Brussels or go back to Venice; Christine would have Paris, and soon her fame would reach the far corners of the globe. And he would continue to teach her, to write music for her, and perhaps produce more operas for her to perform!

And if people grew suspicious and wondered where the beautiful lady lived? Well, anonymity always sold tickets, plus it would be considered a part of her stage career. She would be a lady of mystery, a diva that went and stayed wherever she desired. He recalled how he had Jacque drive the black carriage he kept hidden in the depths of the opera house to Raoul's club that day the Vicomte and the managers' left to discuss his opera. He could use it to fetch Christine after every performance, whisk her away in a cloud of mystery, only to later return to the opera house where they would descend to their Eden.

Yes…it was possible! It would work! They would be together, no one could tear them apart, and no one needs know of their secrets! And with time, the suspicions as to why she was favored in the Phantom's opera would disappear into legend.

Erik found himself beaming from ear to ear at the idea. He burst into his chambers, hoping to find Christine there, but his heart sank only momentarily when he discovered she was not. Yet before he turned to search for her, his eyes caught the parchment lying atop his organ. It was the song that for so long now he had been working on, a song that had no title other than, "Christine's Song".

With a gentle hand, he picked the parchment up and examined it carefully. The melody had been with him for a long time, and it had only been a few weeks since he had begun to place lyrics to the music.

It was a song that reminded him of Christine and the way she had transformed his world, his music, and his heart. And as he gazed at the lyrics a new realization came to him…

This song, which he had come to recognize for so long as a declaration of love, was something else as well…it was a marriage proposal.

Erik let out a long shaky breath at the thought. He had never truly considered himself a religious man…however, with Christine in his life, he was beginning to believe that God had not truly abandoned him as he thought…that perhaps he had found favor with the Lord for the arrival of his angel. And he knew of Christine's faith, which was deep and pure. She had never referred to their love making as sinful, but he knew that marriage would mean so much to her. And the more he thought about it, the more he found that he too, liked the idea of marriage.

The two of them shared a bond deeper than anything he had ever felt, but through marriage, they would be bonded forever as husband and wife and no one, no one could drive them apart. Even the thought of calling Christine "his wife" caused Erik to groan with desire.

He remembered the beautiful ivory gown she wore on the night he had taken her to see Handel's _Messiah_. It was like a wedding gown, and he had the greatest longing to see her wear it again. In fact, he was sure that somewhere in the costume cages there was a veil. And they could be married immediately! Gustave had been raised by monks, he had been training to become one, and could perform the ceremony! The others would be witnesses, and it would all be settled!

Except a ring; he needed a ring…

In a secret chamber, far from where he stood, Erik kept several treasured objects, including gold and jewels that he had collected over his years living beneath the opera house. Yes, some of the objects had been stolen, he would not deny that, but he was sure that amongst them he could find a ring for his bride.

His bride.

Erik felt his heart soar and his blood boil with growing desire at the thought. They could be married tonight! Yes! He would propose to her with his song, ask her to wear that gown, present her with the ring, and then Gustave and the others would be ready, and later that night, they could both enjoy the passionate ecstasy of their marriage bed.

But he would not tell her anything. No, instead, he would keep it all a secret; he would leave her instructions to meet him for a special evening rehearsal in his chamber, and to wear that beautiful gown. He would have the chamber adorned in candlelight, he would play his song for her, and when the time was right, he would fall to one knee and present her with the ring.

Yes, he would marry his angel; he would become her husband and take care of her, look after her, and make love to her every night if she so wished it.

Without any hesitation, Erik immediately wrote up a note for his future bride, leaving very little detail as to what he had planned. Several minutes later, he was standing outside her chamber, holding his breath as he peered to see if she were inside it. For the first and only time of his life, he was grateful to find it empty. He quickly placed the note upon the pillow of her bed, and then found the ivory gown and laid it atop the blankets. For a finishing touch, he plucked a single red rose from a vase that was in the corner, and placed it next to the note. He then quickly retreated back to his chamber to make everything ready for the evening ahead.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't long before Christine returned to her chamber with a weary look in her eyes. She knew that Erik was examining the rehearsals today and would not return until evening. She had been hoping to speak with him before he left that day; she hated waking up and finding him already gone. She wanted to talk to him about the future, about what would happen when the time came for her to go above to rehearse. She didn't like the thought any more than he, but it was something they had to face. She just didn't want to face it alone…

Also, things were growing tense between her and the others. Today for example, Christine had been working with Suzette, and while Suzette had long stopped asking her questions, she could feel the small woman's eyes burning into her, as if trying to assess what secrets she was hiding. Even Rudolph was looking at her strangely.

Erik had told her that it was none of their business what she and he did when they were alone. She just disliked the idea of hiding their love; especially from those that she felt had grown to become her family. She had no guilt over the passion she shared with Erik, but through hiding their feelings and keeping things as secrets, she felt as if a cloud of guilt were doomed to come crashing down upon them.

She sighed again as she entered the chamber, her fingers aching from the hours of mending she had been doing, but stopped short as she gazed upon the bed. The rose was the first thing she saw, bright and red through the lacy curtains, but as she approached the bed, her curiosity peaked at the sight of the note and the gown that was lying across the blankets. Without a moment's hesitation, she tore the seal off and began reading the letter at once.

_My dearest Christine,_

_It would give me great pleasure if you would wear this and meet me tonight, in my chambers, at nine o' clock, for a special rehearsal. Please don't be late._

_With deepest love, O.G._

Christine could not help but grin at the signature. Even when writing to her, Erik would forever be the Phantom when writing his notes. She began to wonder what sort of "rehearsal" it would be? She ran her hand over the gown and smiled as she felt the beautiful fabric. The last time she had worn this dress had been one of the happiest nights of her life. Perhaps its good fortune would return?

Perhaps they would sing the new song they had created for Aminta and Don Juan! She remembered the beautiful melody Erik had composed and her heart sighed at the lyrics she had helped to create. Truly, it was one of the most beautiful love songs she had ever imagined…

A strange giddy feeling came over Christine as she began to speculate as to what Erik had in mind for the night. Perhaps he had found a solution for their future problem! Perhaps he had learned something about her father! It still touched her so deeply that he was even looking. And then a most outrageous thought came to her…

…perhaps Erik was going to propose marriage?

Christine quickly shook her head at such a notion. "You're such silly girl sometimes, Christine Daae," she muttered, glancing at one of her novels, which lay near by. "You don't seem to know what's real and what's fiction anymore."

Still…it was an idea she couldn't shake off entirely. Perhaps she didn't want to. She held the gown up to her body and twirled around the chamber with it, giggling the whole time. Oh to be his bride, to become his wife. No matter what happened, she knew that in her heart, he would always be her husband…

 

* * *

 

Darkness had fallen early that night as a winter storm was brewing. Jacque hated venturing out into the city, even if he were simply sticking to allies and dark corners in unpopulated areas. Still, he feared his master's wrath more than anything, and so he ventured once more as night fell over Paris.

It was the same search he had been conducting every night ever since Erik first ordered him to seek out Christine's father. While Jacque believed it was beyond all hope to find the old man, he continued looking every night in all the places he could, both because of his orders, as well as for Christine. He would deny the latter reason till he was blue in the face, but truth is, he was growing fond of the girl. She was nothing but trouble, he believed that without a doubt…but he was growing fond of her.

He was in a new section of Paris, an area he had not yet explored; an area that had few shadows, but even fewer people. The winds were blowing strong and harsh, and Jacque wrapped his jacket even tighter around himself. The sooner he could leave this place the better! He spied one building he had been dreading to come near for a very long time, but it was a logical place to look, this much he knew. Swiftly and softly, he followed the shadows till he was standing directly across the police station.

There were a few low barred windows; Jacque was hoping they belonged to several jail cells. He could crawl down onto his hands and knees, peer inside, see if Daae was anywhere to be found–

He froze as he heard two muffled voices draw near.

"Is he coming tonight or not? That stupid old man has been crying out for him since this morning!"

"Inspector LeDue says he won't, says that woman who was here the other night knows too much and it's best if he stays far away from this place."

Jacque didn't have time to bolt around the corner, so he did the only thing he could in such a situation; press himself as flat as he could against a shadowed wall and pray they would not notice his presence.

The voices belonged to two officers who were taking long drags from hand-made cigarettes. They had momentarily stepped outside to smoke, and thus began complaining about recent events pertaining to their jobs. Neither had noticed Jacque at all, they were too involved in their current conversation.

"I'm getting tired of us holding him here. The man should clearly be in an asylum," the taller one grumbled.

The shorter officer, with a rather stout belly, joined in his companion's grumbling. "Do you recall how when he first arrived he did nothing but moan and wail about his daughter?"

The other man began to chuckle. "Oh yes, that's right, claiming that a ghost had stolen her from him."

"Oh not just any ghost!" the short fat officer mimicked, a mock look of horror spreading across his features. "The dreaded, infamous…PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!"

Jacque gasped at the man's words, almost too loudly. The short officer paused and glanced up at his friend. "Do you hear something?"

The taller officer was clearly paying no heed. "Then he finally stopped his ranting and wailing and we had peace at last," he sighed, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "But then you-know-who shows up, and after a few late night visits, Daae begins howling all over again about the supposed Phantom!"

Daae.

Jacque could barely move, let alone breathe from the shock of it all.

They had him; Daae was there, locked away in there jail like a common criminal. He had to get back to the opera house and tell his master at once.

"Now I know I heard something that time!" the shorter man grumbled, pushing past his taller friend and peering into the shadows where Jacque was hiding. "Who goes there! Come out right now!"

"What are you going on about?" the taller man groaned. "No one's there, can't you–hey!" Whatever he was going to say was cut off as Jacque wasted no time and bolted from his hiding place, running as fast as he could with the two officers in pursuit.

"Come back here!" they shouted, pulling their whistles from their pockets. "Stop right now!"

Jacque didn't dare look back, he just kept running, down dark allies, past shadowed buildings, their footsteps and whistles ringing loudly in his ears.

And then, he felt a hand grab him by the scruff of his coat, and before he could even cry out, he felt his body being hauled up inside something.

He tried to twist himself around, to fight off his assailant, but the way he had been caught, he kept twisting himself even more in his coat. His hooked-hand lashed out, hoping he could at least frighten his attacker if not cut them. But he froze when a voice finally spoke from the darkness.

"Relax Jacque, it's me, I won't harm you…"

He stopped fighting and felt the hand release his collar. He then quickly turned around to see for himself if the voice were not a figment of his imagination. "Madame Giry?"

The ballet mistress smiled at him. "Rather cold night to be out for a stroll, don't you think?" she casually asked as she leaned back in her seat. Jacque glanced around and realized he was inside a carriage. He looked back at the woman again, his body still tense from the narrow escape of the police officers, let alone the information he had just heard.

"How…how did you know where I was?" he finally asked as he felt his breathing return to normal.

Madame Giry softly smiled. "Like you, I too was spying on the police, although I'd be quite interested in hearing your reasons."

Jacque quickly looked away from the woman's hard cold eyes that could burn through stone. He knew that presently, the Master was not on speaking terms with the woman, however he was extremely grateful for the help she had offered, yet the Master was the one with whom he solely took orders from.

Madame Giry noticed the man's silence, as well as his refusal to even look at her. "Did Erik ask you to spy on the police?" she simply asked, hoping that perhaps he would somehow give away something.

Still nothing.

"Well, it is rather obvious that Erik had asked you to do that," she continued. "After all, I know that you would never go out willingly, so there must have been a good reason as to why Erik had you come all the way here…" she murmured, her eyes still watching him closely.

Jacque still said nothing, yet he was beginning to fidget uncomfortably.

Madame Giry sighed, tired of playing silly games. "I know Erik has Christine Daae, Jacque."

Jacque turned his head and stared at Madame Giry, his eyes wide with shock. Before he could look away, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. "I can see it in your eyes, Jacque…and I know she is alive, or at least was a few weeks ago, because I saw her at the masquerade ball." He said nothing, but he did not look away.

Madame Giry sighed again, removing her hand from his arm and leaning back once more, but her eyes remained locked with his. "You know as well as I do that what Erik has done is wrong…and I need to speak with him, but he will not let me travel below as before."

Jacque knew this much was true. Madame Giry knew of many entrances into Erik's realm; however there were far more that she did not know, and all the ones she did know had been locked or the traps had been changed. More or less, the world was truly locked out.

"Jacque please, I beg of you," Madame Giry pleaded, her voice soft and desperate, a sound that he and many others had never heard her speak. "Take me to Erik; let me at least speak with him one more time…at least for Christine's sake."

Jacque's eyes fell to the carriage floor. "He will not be happy," he murmured.

Madame Giry reached out once more and tenderly touched his arm. "I fully take all the blame for my intrusion," she assured him, yet Jacque still felt uneasy about all this.

The carriage finally reached its destination, and the coachman immediately opened the door. Jacque hid behind the collar of his coat as he followed Madame Giry down. The ballet mistress gave the driver several firm orders to return for her in an hour and wait for her by the front steps. She then turned to Jacque as the carriage pulled away, awaiting his decision. "May I speak with your master?" she asked once more, hoping that Jacque would at least do this much.

Jacque knew something was going on between the Master and Christine, but what exactly, he was unsure. But now that he knew the whereabouts of her father, and that information he did feel responsible to deliver. While he had not warmed to Christine the same way the others had, he did know she was kind, loyal, and most trustworthy; she deserved to be reunited with her father again.

And it was only a short period of time before she would leave for good. What did it matter now if it was sooner rather than later? Still, he could feel his heart sinking as he nodded his head to the ballet mistress. She may take the full blame for trespassing, but he would still feel the blunt of it in some form.

"Follow me," he said at last, leading her into darkness.

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night that was meant for happiness becomes a horrible nightmare...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ FIRST  
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi everyone. I'm very happy that so many have been enjoying "Phantom's Beauty", I truly do appreciate all the reviews and messages people have sent. A quick word about this chapter; this chapter is perhaps the most difficult chapter I have ever had to write. I know that many of you were feeling extremely happy about events in the past few chapters, and I won't lie to you, this chapter is not a happy one and deals with some very dark subjects, and portrays Erik in a very dark manner. But let me reassure you that this is by no means the end; there are still many more chapters left, many more chapters that will turn things around and bring everything full circle. One thing I always promise is a happy ending, so be reassured that despite this chapter, there is a happy ending coming, and happy chapters on the way. But please, I do not wish to discourage you from reading this chapter, as it is important and pivotal to the plot of the story. Sometimes we have to muddle through the muck, to appreciate life's joy. Thank you. Lady Rosesong

_**End of Act I** _

"Touch me…trust me…savor each sensation…"

Erik felt his heart swell as he softly sang the lyrics on the parchment before him. He was adding the final touches to his song, which now had a proper title.

"Let the dream begin,  
let your darker side give in,  
to the power of the music that I write…  
the power of the music of the night!"

His voice was filled with such deep emotion, and as he sang he envisioned her face before him, her beautiful eyes shimmering with tears, or perhaps fluttering closed as he had seen her do when he sang to her. Either way, he would fall to his knee at that point, taking her hand in his, and hold the ring out to her. Erik could not help but smile as he imagined the surprise on her face when he would present the ring; he had found the perfect one after several long hours of searching. It was simple and elegant, much like his Christine, yet the diamond that it held, while not overwhelming, was indeed mesmerizing he had to admit. He was extremely pleased, both with his choice for a ring as well as with the song he had composed. Now he simply needed to find Gustave and inform him of his plans–

Erik paused as he heard footsteps approach his chamber. They were soft feminine footsteps, and he felt the grin spread even further across his face. "You're quite early, my dear, however I will forgive–"

"Hello Erik."

He froze at the sound of the voice, and felt his smile melt away, as did the color from his face. Slowly, he turned to face the woman who had spoken, yet his face was already prepared; the lines deeply set and the dark shadows already forming over his masked features to add an ominous touch to his already menacing glare.

"Madame Giry," he whispered, his own eyes matching the same cold orbs that gazed back at his.

Jacque stood a few steps behind her, his eyes locked with the ground, his body trembling slightly from the distinct chill the chamber now emanated. Erik merely glanced briefly at Jacque before coldly dismissing him. "Leave us," he ordered. Jacque did not need to be told twice, he quickly backed out of the chamber and could be heard running from the place.

Madame Giry waited until the hooked-handed man could no longer be heard. "Do not be angry with Jacque, it was I who forced him to bring me here," she explained very dryly.

Erik turned his back on the woman and rearranged his new song under several heavy layers of parchment. "I do not blame him for bringing you here, I know you are quite capable of intimidating anyone," he dryly replied, before turning back and facing her, his arms folded across his chest.

Madame Giry smiled gently to herself. "Everyone, save for you, Erik," she murmured softly.

Erik said nothing; he simply waited for her to state her reasons for being there. Truth was, they had not been corresponding with one another since the night both Christine and her father invaded his world. While they had not officially cut all ties between each other, the argument they had had left little discussion of renewing their "friendship", if one could call it that. Besides, neither of them were going to apologize, they were both far too stubborn for their own good. So he simply waited for her to speak and explain what was so important that she had to intimidate Jacque into bringing her down there.

Madame Giry recognized Erik's body language and got right to the point. "I know you have Christine Daae down here," she stated plainly.

Erik said nothing, nor did give any indication that her words affected him. She continued. "I saw her that night at the ball…I didn't realize it at first, but I thought something about her seemed familiar…and then I learned recently that the last time anyone had seen her was the night of the opening gala, the same night her father disappeared." She looked up at Erik to see any sign of acknowledgement, but found none. "Several stagehands confessed to speaking with her and then seeing her disappear beneath the stage to search for her father who had also disappeared the same way…and you did not deny that Monsieur Daae had entered your world, if I recall," she added coolly.

"Nor did I confirm your suspicions," Erik replied, just as coolly. "I too remember that conversation, and you were quite quick to accuse me of murdering the old man."

"I had good reason, due to your history," she icily hissed.

Erik found himself softly chuckling. "All too true, after all, I do abhor trespassers, people who simply arrive unannounced as if they own the place or something," he groaned, his statement all too clear as he gazed upon Madame Giry. "I would not do such a thing to someone else's home…and a man does have the right to defend his own home, does he not?"

"Damn it Erik!" Madame Giry growled, her patience waning. "Enough of this, where is the girl?"

Erik leaned back against his piano, his arms still locked across his chest. His eyes speculated her for a moment while a soft cold smile spread across his face. "You claim she is here, after all, you said so yourself that you saw her. Although I must admit, I am rather shocked that it took you so long to put the pieces together. Yet perhaps you were simply avoiding a confrontation? I know I can strike fear into the hearts–"

"You do NOT frighten me!" Madame Giry practically shouted, her black-booted foot stomping down firmly on the ground. "Perhaps I did not wish to jump to such conclusions because I did not think you possible of committing such…such…vile villainy!"

Erik's cold smile vanished, as did any amusement that had lit his gaze. He glared at the woman before him and felt his muscles tense at her words. "Villainy, madam?"

"Yes!" she hissed, stepping towards him, her hands gripping the walking stick she carried. "It would have been one thing to learn that she had disappeared after entering your world, to learn that her fate was the same as the others who trespassed…but Erik…this is not a matter of defense, this is pure villainy! When I realized that the girl you had pried from the Vicomte's embrace had the same hair, the same figure, the same height as Christine–"

Erik was seething at these words. Was it possible that Madame Giry saw the Vicomte de Chagny as some sort of hero on a white horse?

"–I just never thought it possible that you had…that you had lowered yourself to such evil, to lock up an innocent girl for who knows how long, and to use her for…for…" she felt sick at even thinking such vile thoughts.

Erik had been accused of many things, and many of those things he had been accused of were sadly true. But he had never been accused of using a woman for such diabolical means as Madame Giry was referring to. Even he could not lower himself to that level of filth. In the past he had been guilty of using prostitutes to sate his savage urges, but he was by no means guilty of the acts the ballet mistress now accused him of. And now, after so many months of learning about Christine, of living with her, getting to know her, and at last loving her…hearing such horrid things and being accused of such atrocities was more than he could bear.

"Well, I must say that didn't take very long," he growled low and deep.

Madame Giry stared at him with confusion. "What didn't take very long?"

"To step in and be my judge and jury, accusing me of being a vile monster…but I suppose it's rather hard to not be accused of such things when one looks like a monster."

Madame Giry rolled her eyes heavenward, seeking patience from God above. "Damn it Erik, do not bring your face into this! Just tell me where the girl is!"

"No!" Erik barked, his amber eyes glowing like molten fire. "You do not TELL me what to do, madam! And how DARE YOU barge in here and accuse me of rape!"

Madame Giry eyed him coldly. "You deny, then, my accusations?"

Erik opened his mouth to speak and then stopped when a sound outside his chamber indicated that someone was nearby and listening. "We will not discuss this further…at least not here," he growled, grabbing Madame Giry by the wrist and marching out of the chamber, dragging her behind.

Erik did not know who it was that had been listening, the eavesdropper had vanished by the time he and Madame Giry had exited the chamber, however it was only wise that they did move somewhere else to speak; the last thing he wanted was for his beautiful Christine to walk in and see him strangling the ballet mistress. And if he didn't calm his anger soon, that would be exactly what he would do.

Madame Giry had no idea where Erik was taking her, but said nothing; she was too busy trying to catch her breath from the brisk pace Erik was setting.

Finally, they arrived at the destination Erik had intended; the southern chambers where many props and the infamous costume cages were kept. Once there, Erik whirled around and practically pushed the woman away from him, his glare dark and menacing.

Madame Giry rubbed her wrist and eyed the masked man suspiciously. He was hiding something; she could read it all over him, why else would he insist on carrying on this debate somewhere far from the ears of others? And yet, he had not admitted to holding Christine captive either. Had she jumped to the wrong conclusions? "Answer me once and for all Erik; do you have her?"

Erik's eyes were dark slits of fire as he glared at the ballet mistress. He didn't have to tell her anything, this was his home and Christine was his business. And even if he didn't tell her he had Christine, what went on between the two of them was their business! He owed no one anything…

Madame Giry decided it was time to change tactics. She wasn't going to get anywhere with this. "You surprise me Erik…" she began.

Erik shot her another death glare. "Good to know I can still keep you on your toes."

She ignored his icy comment. "I never thought you a man of mercy…"

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but paused at her words. What did she mean by that exactly? One minute she was accusing him of villainous acts, the next she was praising his clemency.

Madame Giry noticed his look of surprise and quickly continued. "You have quite an infamous reputation, as you well know. The Phantom of the Opera, who kills anyone who displeases him, especially trespassers–"

"I know of my own reputation, perhaps you should just say what you are babbling about."

Madame Giry eyed him one more time and nodded her head in agreement. "Very well. I saw Monsieur Daae this evening."

Erik practically lost his ice-cold composure at the woman's words. Christine's father–he was alive! Yet Erik was a mastermind when it came to giving off a particular persona, and instantly regained the frigidness of his character. "What makes you think it was Daae? You said so yourself, you know of my reputation–I have killed men for less than what Daae did, what makes you feel so sure–"

"Jacque was the one who discovered him," she interrupted.

Erik's eyes went momentarily wide. He opened his mouth to respond, but once again, she cut in.

"Jacque also told me that he was at the prison because…you had ordered him to search for Daae."

A part of Erik wanted to throw all his rage at the hook-handed man, yet he knew that Jacque's icy nature was no match for Madame Giry's, and if the woman wanted information, she would get it. For the first time in his life, Erik began to realize what it must feel like to be under Madame Giry's cold hard thumb.

"I can only assume two reasons as to why you would give orders to know the whereabouts of Monsieur Daae. One, he escaped your clutches and you are tracking him down to forever silence his tongue, or two…you have other reasons, reasons to which I do not fully understand, but reasons that point to the fact that you ARE keeping Christine!"

"ENOUGH!" Erik shouted, his temper hitting a breaking point. He refused to feel like a bug in a jar in his own domain. "Perhaps your first guess is correct; perhaps Daae somehow escaped and I wish to know where he is to be sure he will not have mobs barging down here and destroying not only my life, but the lives of several others!"

Madame Giry cocked a dark brow at these words. "Yet no one has escaped your realm…this place, this labyrinth, is so diligently armed against trespassers…Daae could not have escaped, at least not without someone who knows the workings of your traps. It is far more likely to believe you showed mercy on another human being, than it is to believe you would be so careless as to allow someone to easily escape."

Erik's head was throbbing at the constant change from accusations to bewildered praise. She was playing some sort of game with him, trying to get him to reveal something he did not wish to reveal. "State your theories, madam," Erik growled deep and low. "I grow weary of both you and this discussion."

Madame Giry lifted her chin. "Very well. I believe you released Daae, although why I do not know. Perhaps–" she gasped and a hand flew to her mouth as she put the pieces together. "Christine…she offered her life for his! And you took it! You took her in exchange for Daae!"

"Like lambs to the slaughter," Erik grumbled, his arms folding once more across his wide chest.

Madame Giry was now the one who looked horrified. "Oh God Erik, I…I did not want to believe you capable of–"

"I WILL NOT STAND BY AND HAVE YOU INSULT ME SO GRAVELY AS YOU DID BEFORE!" Erik shouted, his voice reverberating off the cavern walls. "I NEVER LAID A HAND ON HER! NOT ONCE DID I FORCE MYSELF UPON HER, NOT ONCE DID I RAISE A HAND TO STRIKE HER! SHE CAME HERE ON HER OWN ACCORD AND SHE STAYS ON HER OWN ACCORD!" His chest was heaving from his shouting, the words still echoing all around them.

Madame Giry stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth open but no sound coming out. A realization dawned upon her as the last puzzle piece slowly fell into its place. "My God…" she whispered. "You love her."

Erik quickly turned his back to the woman and began to march out of the chamber, not caring what happened to her, just needing to be away from her before he gave in to temptation and wrap a Punjab lasso around her neck.

"She remains here because you love her! And…and that is why you were looking for Daae; it was all done for her, not for yourself!"

Erik halted and Madame Giry, who had been following his tall shadowy form close behind, almost slammed into him. "You will leave this place…and you will leave now," he growled, dangerously low. "I will not ask you again."

Madame Giry remained where she was and she watched his figure retreat into the darkness. She knew that she was playing with fire by continuing to stand where she was and even call out to him…but she had to be heard at least one last time. Christine was down here, and she had a right to know about her father, she had a right to be in a world filled with sunshine, nature, and people. She had a right to live.

"What are you going to do about Daae?" she cried out to his retreating form.

Erik knew he shouldn't turn around, every fiber was telling him to ignore the woman, to go back to his chambers and to prepare for Christine. This was not Madame Giry's business, nor was it the business of others for that matter! He loved Christine, he worshipped her, he would give up his music for her, and she had told him so many times, as well as shown him, that she dearly loved him.

…yet what had he done to deserve her love?

He took her father from her, made her a prisoner, forced her to live a life underground with a bunch of carnival freaks, trained her to sing to the point of causing herself physical pain…and then took her virginity, thus defiling her before God.

_But she did all these things willingly_ cried out a voice inside him. _Did she not give her body to you? Did she not take joy in your music? Did she not make all these decisions on her own?_ He never truly possessed her, because she was her own person!

And she forgave him, the angel that she was. She forgave him for taking her father away.

…and now was the opportunity to make things right.

"Erik…" he practically flinched as he felt Madame Giry's hand touch his arm. "Never in my life did I believe it possible that…that you would come to know the joy of love–and yet, love also carries a tremendous burden."

He shook her hand off his arm. "Do not talk to me about love, madam. Whatever love you have felt in life does not even begin to compare to Christine."

"I know…" she sighed, taking a step away from him. "The love my late husband and I shared is nothing like the love you share for Christine. And the reason that is, is because REAL love demands sacrifice."

Erik stared at her, a sick feeling boiling in the pit of his stomach.

"Both my husband and I made sacrifices for each other. We both had to give up things we wanted, make hard choices, and live with one another's consequences. And yet we did these things because we wanted the other to be happy–our happiness was entwined with the happiness of the other. Did you know why I stopped dancing Erik? The ballet girls say it is because of an injury, but that is not true. I healed from the injury to my knee, I could return to dancing anytime I wished! But I didn't…because my husband had fallen ill and needed me by his side. I gave up dancing for him, something I am very passionate about, but I realized that no matter how much I love dancing…it does not even compare to the love I feel for my husband." She pulled out a tiny framed picture from her purse and looked down at the old photograph tenderly. "After he died, I dedicated my strength to my daughter. When I see her, I see Karl…" she sighed, placing the picture back inside her purse. "Meg will be a great star one day…and Karl will live on through her." She lifted her eyes once more to Erik's and locked them with his. "That is the burden of love Erik…it gives joy, but it also demands sacrifice. Christine sacrificed herself for her father, because she loves him! She has chosen to live in a world of darkness when what she needs is light! She needs warmth, she needs fresh air, she needs–no, she deserves the family that you have robbed from her!"

Erik was struck by these words as if someone had clobbered him with a heavy club. "Giving a woman gifts is not the same as putting her wants ahead of yours. Keeping her here as your own caged songbird is not love…its selfish possessiveness disguising itself as enduring affection." She took a step away from him, her eyes glowing like beacons on a stormy night. "Goodbye, Erik…I will not disturb you again." Without so much as another look, she turned on her heel and disappeared down a dark cavern that led back to the outside world, leaving him there in the cold tunnel, a tunnel that did not seem to possess such bitterness, until now.

It seemed like hours had passed.

Erik remained in the tunnel long after Madame Giry had bid him farewell.

The woman's words had a damn nuisance of penetrating his soul. He recalled that horrible time she compared him to the Vicomte de Chagny; now was no different, he felt numb all over from the sting of her truthfulness.

Christine's father was alive. This was both wonderful and terrible.

In truth, Erik had forgotten the old man. And would he be lying if a part of him had even been hoping that Daae would not be found? Erik cursed himself for his selfishness; if Daae remained unfound, yes it would mean Christine had no choice but to stay with him…but was that what he wanted?

No. He did not want Christine staying with him because she had no other choice…he wanted her to stay because she wanted to stay; hence his plan to propose to her.

And Christine, while she may deny it now, would live to resent him for the rest of her life. She would inwardly blame him for the death of her father, and she would not be wrong. And that hatred would fester and eat away at her soul until there was no love left–and all that remained was a hollow shell of the woman that once responded to his touch. He would truly become the monster that he was before her eyes…and he would not blame her.

Damn it all! What a fool he had been! To even begin to believe that someone like him could be happy; could have a woman like Christine with him for the rest of his life. He was cursed to remain in darkness, to haunt the shadows and thirst for the simple pleasures of human existence.

A puddle of water pooled near his feet and he caught sight of his masked reflection. In anger, his foot came crashing down on the puddle, sending the water splattering every which way, distorting the reflection from his eyes.

Why had he believed himself to be more than what he was? Damn love, damn dreams, and damn Christine! If she had left him to die in the streets of Paris that one night, he would never know this pain he was now feeling.

She was to blame for all this. She came into his life, turned his world upside down, and then did the unthinkable: she fell in love with the monster. And he all too eagerly allowed himself to be caught in the web her love created.

But creatures like him were not meant to find happiness with others. Creatures like him were not meant to know the joys of the flesh, they were not meant to feel the warmth of a woman's arms, and they certainly were not meant to feel the equal of men who had no need to hide their faces behind masks.

That was when the song that had haunted his heart since the first night he had laid in Christine's arms, began to fill his head.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day…" he whispered, the lyrics now so familiar to him. "Dare you trust the music of the night…"

Erik's hands rose to his head and pulled at his dark hair as if wishing to rip it out. Then, with a angry cry, he threw his head back and let all the caverns hear the pain and rage that filled his being.

He began to run.

He was flying through the caverns as if trying to escape something.

That song. It kept playing over and over inside his head, and it was mixed with another song…that damn lullaby Christine had sung to him several nights ago. She called him angel, she thought of him as her personal angel! _Damn her_ , he cursed. She made him believe that he could perhaps be that for her too; he should have known better.

He needed to destroy it. He needed to find the song he had written and destroy it quickly before the pain engulfed him.

He flew to the entrance of his chambers, determined to thrust the parchment into the fire before its haunting melody inflicted him further, before its lyrics of love and hope mocked him again, before–

"Erik!"

Erik halted the second he entered the chamber, gasping at the sight before him.

Good God…she was vision.

Christine stood before him; her cheeks pink and her smile warm, radiating a glow that stabbed at his heart. She was wearing the ivory gown he had requested that she wear, and the rose he had left on her bed was in her wild and lovely brown hair. She stood before him, smiling with blushing pride, her hands holding onto the folds of her gown, as if trying to show him that she had done what he had requested, hoping he would be proud.

Was it possible for this woman to look any lovelier? Why was it that every time he saw her, she seemed to glow with even more beauty?

Her smile was so radiating, so beautiful…

He never thought it possible to despise that smile until now.

"Christine…" he simply whispered.

She grinned and did a small curtsy. "Thank you for inviting me, and for the rose," she blushed, her grin spreading further as she touched the fragile flower.

Erik felt his heart being torn to shreds. Did she have to look at him like that? Did she have to grin like that?

"I confess, I was hoping that perhaps we could rehearse that song from _Don Juan_? The song where both Aminta and Don Juan sing of their love to one another?" she asked timidly, her hands reaching out for his.

Erik froze at her words. _Anything but that right now_ …God give him strength.

"I know that you believe music can always be perfected, but I do so love it, and it's so beautiful, oh please Erik, I want to sing that with you–"

She had been reaching for him then, her small beautiful hands almost touching his, her sweet lips tilted upward to kiss his own. One touch of her hand would be his undoing, let alone one kiss.

Erik pulled away from her before Christine could reach him, a move that caused Christine momentary alarm. Her smile slowly began to vanish and she could read from his body language that something was not right. Perhaps he needed to discuss with her something about the opera before they moved on to rehearsing?

"Forgive me," she apologized. "I was getting ahead of myself, it was you who asked for me to come, and therefore you have matters of great importance you wish to discuss. Please Erik, tell me what–"

She had been reaching for him again, and once more, Erik pulled away from her before she could touch him. This time Christine knew something was wrong by the way Erik moved…and by the way his eyes adverted hers. "Erik? What's wrong…" she whispered, a soft trembling in her voice.

Erik cursed himself as he heard the sudden change of tone in her voice. He was causing this worry, this growing apprehension that something was wrong. And while he knew that it would break his heart, to do what he had to do, it was the only way to truly free her from the cage he had placed her in.

"There will be no need to rehearse Don Juan and Aminta's song," he said harshly, his back still turned to her.

Christine felt a chill wash over her, but chose to ignore it. "Erik, I know you are a perfectionist, but you have already achieved perfection! The song can not be perfected further, it–"

"You misunderstand me," he cut in, his tone razor sharp. Christine stared at his back, her arms wrapping around her body in an attempts to fight off the growing chill that was spreading. "There will be no need to rehearse the song…" he growled, slowly turning to face her, "…because I have removed it completely from the opera."

Christine stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "W-w-what?"

"Don't pretend to be deaf Christine, you have a sweet little voice, but lack talent when it comes to acting."

His words bit into her like a snake striking its victim. What was wrong with him? Why was he behaving so coldly, so maliciously?

"What's wrong Erik? What happened?" she approached him swiftly, her hand reaching for his, but he moved away from her with more grace than a man half his size could possess. Even his movements stung her.

"Nothing is wrong my dear, in fact, nothing could be better. I saw the error of my ways and handled the problem immediately."

She stared at him as if she had never known this man in her life. She was beginning to think that was possible. "The problem?"

He said nothing, simply strode over to the organ, found several pieces of parchment, and without a glance in her direction, proceeded to throw the parchment into the fire that warmed the whole chamber. Christine watched in horror as he paid no attention to her and went about his task as if it were something he commonly did.

"Erik!" she practically screeched his name as panic was beginning to take hold. "What are you doing? What do you mean by 'problem'?"

He sighed and lifted his eyes to hers. "Kindly lower your voice madam, at least to a level that will not cause dogs to howl."

Christine stared at him in shock from the biting remark. She could feel tears beginning to sting her eyes. "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!"

"NOTHING!" Erik roared, turning on her, anger flashing wildly in his eyes. "Why must something be wrong with me? Perhaps nothing is wrong with me, perhaps I am simply seeing the light for once!"

Christine took a step back, truly feeling afraid of him for the first time since the night she traded her life for her father's. Erik took notice of the way she looked at him, of the way she trembled, and instead of retreating, simply advanced. "I played your game Christine, I knew that if I didn't make those changes and wrote your precious love song, that your nagging would never end! It was for my own sanity that I wrote that song, not out of any favors to you," he mocked, his words cutting and spitting with fire.

Her eyes were shimmering with cold tears. Who was this man that stood before her? This was not the man she had fallen in love with, this was not the man she had willingly given her body to almost every night. This was…was…

"A monster?" he simply asked.

Christine's eyes widened at his words. "W-w-what? I…I never said…"

"I can easily read what you're thinking, it's not very hard actually, and you're quite easy to comprehend."

Christine felt a flare of anger ignite within her. "Am I?"

Erik smiled, a cold calculating smile that held no warmth or affection. "Quite. After all, look at what you read! Gothic romances filled with mystery, intrigue, and passion. It wasn't hard to seduce you at all…a few songs, several late night rendezvous', not to mention a midnight waltz on New Year's Eve…yes, it was rather easy getting you into bed actually. And all I had to do to keep you there was simply tell you what you wanted to hear–"

Christine screamed with rage and raised her hand to slap his uncovered cheek, but his strong powerful grip caught her wrist before it could make contact, squeezing and twisting the skin until she whimpered. "That was rude," he hissed. "At least let me finish before you attempt to strike me down with your little fists of fury." He released her wrist and she stumbled back, clutching her arm to her chest, her whole body trembling with both rage and sorrow. "As I was saying," he continued as if nothing had happened. "Filling your head with words of love was a guaranteed way of keeping your back on the mattress and your thighs parted–"

Erik ducked just in time as Christine picked up a vase and hurled it at his head. She then wasted no time with screaming her attack and throwing herself at him, her hands clawing at his face and chest, ripping the mask off and attempting to scratch his eyes out.

Erik was momentarily stunned by the strength she possessed and found himself fighting her off with some difficulty. He knew his Christine could do anything if she truly put her mind to it, and right now, nothing would please her more than to kill him.

_Good_. That would at least make her pain less when she left his world forever.

He finally managed to push the little hellion off him, shoving her so hard that she fell backwards and landed with a loud thud. He bent then to retrieve his mask that she had removed, the whole time keeping his eyes on her in case she attempted to attack him again.

She didn't. Instead, she found herself, much to her own disgust, weeping in deep misery. Her strength had only been momentary, now it had been sucked out of her completely. She felt so tired, physically, mentally, and most especially, in her heart. So tired that she could not fight off the tears; they flowed down her cheeks freely, like two ice-cold waterfalls.

Erik slowly placed the mask back on his face, his tongue tasting blood at the corner of his mouth. Christine had not been entirely unsuccessful in her attack. He gazed down at the girl before him, the woman he had reduced to a weeping heap with only a few words. It hurt, God how it hurt, seeing her like that, hearing her sorrow, her misery…but it was the only way…

"I don't know what's happened to you," she whispered, her tear-stained face lifting to meet his eyes. "But I can not…I do not believe that…that it was all a lie…"

"Whatever makes you happy my dear," Erik grumbled, moving past her without another look. He sat himself down at his organ and began to play a few notes from the overture of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Christine watched him as he played, seeing how rigid he sat, noticing that there was no passion in the way he played. Slowly, she scrambled to her feet.

"You love me Erik, I know you do!"

He ignored her and continued playing, although every fiber in his being screamed at him to answer her.

She sighed and began to approach him, determined to not let him push her away again. "I don't know why you're doing this, saying these things and behaving in such a way, but I KNOW that you love me! I've felt your love! I've seen it!"

His playing did not cease, nor did his concentration. Christine felt the anger rise within her again and she reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to turn and face her. "DAMN IT ERIK, YOU WILL ANSWER ME!"

He flew to his feet as he felt her tiny hands grip his shoulders, whirling about so quickly that she almost stumbled backwards. He caught her by the shoulders before she fell, but his touch was not tender.

_This will be the hardest part I have ever had to play..._

"Love you? Good God, is that what you think? That I love you?"

To Christine's horror, Erik began to laugh. A deep menacing laugh that filled her with dread and made her flesh crawl. She writhed in his arms, but not the way she writhed within them before. Then, it was because of the extreme pleasure they were experiencing together…now, it was out of pure hatred and disgust. She wanted to be far away from him, she didn't want to feel his touch; she didn't want to remember what it felt like to lay within his arms and feel his body cover hers. She wanted the man she loved, her Phantom, to come back to her…not this creature who harshly held her and was laughing manically in her face. Who was this man?

_God forgive me..._

"Truth be Christine, I've had my fill of you. In fact, you were growing, for lack of betters words, somewhat tiresome," he spat.

_Forgive me Christine...although I do not deserve it..._

"I am a man nearly 20 years your elder. You're nothing but a mere child; while you are spirited, your youth lacks imagination to keep a grown man satisfied for very long."

_God this hurts, seeing her flinch...seeing her cry. Kill me now, please..._

"However, you are only a country girl, and the only rituals of mating that you are acquainted with is that of farm animals. Pity then, that you did not understand fully that men are predatory beasts; when we find prey that we hunger for, we'll do anything necessary to capture it.

_Hate me Christine; I never deserved your love. Hate me and leave this place, never looking back..._

"In your case, it was telling you that I loved you, when in reality–" Christine gasped in terror as one of Erik's large hands grabbed her right breast. "–all I wanted was to sup at the delights you eagerly displayed before me."

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" she screamed, her hands clawing away at his hand that continued to grip and fondle her breast. She had never felt so disgusted in all her life.

_End this now; just tell me that you hate me Christine, please...end this suffering!_

"What's wrong my dear? I thought you loved me," he mocked, his hand now leaving her breast and moving down to her thigh. His other arm held her tight to his body so that she could not escape while his fingers began to pull at the hem of her gown. "Isn't this what you wanted? I thought you loved the way I touched you…I thought you loved the way I made you feel…" his breath was hot against her neck, but the shivers it caused Christine were not shivers of pleasure.

_Fight me, Christine! Lash out, strike me own! HATE ME!_

"Don't you want the Phantom of the Opera to fuck you?"

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" she screamed, her knee wiggling free from Erik's powerful hold of her body and with all the strength she could, kneeing him hard in the groin, causing him to let her go and stumble backwards.

Had Erik not reached out to grip a stone bust that was near, he would have fallen to the ground from her sudden attack.

_Well done Christine_ , _I'm so proud of you..._

"Don't you EVER touch me again!" she spat, moving around the piano to keep the instrument between both herself and him.

Erik slowly rose back to his full height, although panting still from the painful blow she had caused. "Touché my dear, you caught me entirely unawares. You fight well…for a woman."

Christine's cheeks flared a hot shade of pink at his words.

"I was wrong…you still have that spirit I admire so," he sighed, moving away from where she stood and retreate back to the organ.

_I will never touch her again. Fly away, my angel, fly away from this Hell..._

"Your spirit was one of the reasons to why I decided to keep you those many months ago. I thought a sweet little hellion like you could make things interesting in bed for at least some time–not to mention you would be light on my purse."

Christine's eyes went wide at his meaning. "I am no whore!"

_No, you are an angel, an angel who deserves freedom from the demon that I am..._

He cocked a brow. "Really? Are you sure? What would you call yourself then? A mistress perhaps? No, that won't do at all, even mistresses are given an allowance; well, whatever you were, I won't deny that you were worth every penny," Erik then reached for a black wooden box that sat near his organ, and from inside it, he withdrew a small gray bag. "I think that shall cover all expenses between then and now."

Christine stared at the bag in his hand and then back at him. Was he joking? Was he actually telling her he thought of her as nothing but a streetwalking whore?

_Take it, Christine. Take it and leave this place!_

"Come now Christine, even if your pride is hurt, I would take the money if I were you…you'll need it when searching for a new residence."

Her eyes had narrowed to hate-filled slits. "You bastard…" she hissed. "I will take NOTHING of yours! I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU!"

_She's right, you are a bastard and deserve every cruelty life gives you. Just tell her what she needs to know and end this suffering before it's too late!_

Erik sighed and tossed the bag down on the ground. "You may wish to reconsider my offer. If you will not take it to use for yourself, then you may wish to have it when you go to the prison to release your father."

Christine's face paled at Erik's words. Time had truly stopped. His words were still echoing in her ears when she finally found her voice again. "M-m-my f-father?"

Erik kept his stone countenance even though what he was about to tell her would perhaps hurt most of all. "Well of course…it's time that you know the truth my dear," he sighed, turning his back on her and facing his music again.

_Don't look at her; don't look into her angel eyes. They're filled with hate, which is what you deserve!_

"Your father has been rotting in a Paris prison for at least several months now…poor man, probably thinks your dead."

Christine stared at his back, both shocked as well as vengeful. "Y-y-y-you've known? You've known all this time?"

Erik took a deep breath and put on a calculating grin before he turned to face her once more. "Of course my dear…but I couldn't have my mistress leaving my lair for a pitiful old man when I was far from done with her, now could I?"

_Go find your father and never come back, Christine. I free you from this prison, I free you from my heart..._

A part of Christine wanted to kill him; she wanted to lift that bust that stood near his organ and throw it down upon his head! Or at the very least, she wanted to burn all his precious music. But another part of her just couldn't believe that this man, this man who she thought had loved her, who she had foolishly given her heart to…had known all this time where her father was, but had purposefully kept the information from her so that she would stay and…

Her stomach churned with revulsion at the many memories of their nights together.

Erik watched the conflict of emotions flash across her beautiful tear-stained face. It took every nerve in his body to not go to her, fall to his knees, and beg forgiveness for the horrid way he had treated her, for the terrible things he had said. He did love her, he loved her more than anything in this world…but damn Madame Giry, she was right; Christine was not meant for this existence and he had been a fool to believe that it could possibly be true.

Painful as it was, this was the only way to let her go and know that at least she would not have to suffer the same pain he would suffer for the rest of his life. _Better that she hates me than wallow in sorrowful misery._

"My offer still stands Christine," he said, breaking the silence. She glanced at him and then glanced down at the bag of money he had thrown on the ground. She didn't want to take his money, by doing so she would be admitting, at least to him, that she had been his whore all this time.

But her father needed her, and if what Erik said was true…

Her pride could be put aside for this. She quickly snatched the money up and cradled it to her breast, backing away from him before he could reach out and grab her again.

Erik looked at her for a long moment, before turning his back on her and resuming his playing. "Take the boat and go out the way I showed you that leads towards the stage."

He said nothing more, he simply continued his playing, the notes growing louder and louder so that he would not have to hear her tiny feet dash out of the chamber and leave his world forever.

He played for what felt like hours, the blisters on his fingers breaking from the way he pounded the keys. He did not wish to stop, for if he did, he may hear her go, or he may turn and see her still standing there. He didn't know what he would do if she were still there–he did not think he would be able to let her go then.

"Master?"

Erik gasped at the sound, and then let out a long shaky sigh as he turned to face Gustave, who stood there, holding his bible in one hand, his face filled with concern.

"Master? I know that you had wished me to come to your chamber tonight…but…" something was troubling the man with the clubbed feet. Erik said nothing; he just waited until Gustave finally finished his thoughts. "Is something wrong? I…I saw Christine a short time ago…she…she looked so upset."

Erik felt his heart burst at the man's words. He could only imagine the pain that must have been written across his Christine's lovely face.

"Master…what has happened? She held several small bundles in her arms; she was going to the lake…she was crying. Master, is she all right? Please…what has happened?"

Erik looked away, his focus drawing now to a copy of the song he had composed for Don Juan and Aminta to sing. "I let her go…" was he all said.

Gustave's eyes widened at his master's words. "You…you what?" Christine was gone? She was leaving, never to return? "How…why…why did you let her go?"

Erik still kept his eyes focused on the song. "It was necessary…I had to…"

Gustave's head was reeling with questions. "But why Master? I…I thought…I thought that perhaps…" he had been so sure, for so many weeks now that something had happened between the Master and Christine. Something good…or so he thought.

"Because…" Erik sighed, turning his eyes to the other man's, eyes that for the first time ever, revealed tears to his friends, "…I love her."

Gustave's face paled and his eyes widened at the Master's revelation. It had been true…after all this time, the dark, cold, menacing Phantom of the Opera…had learned to love another.

Yet before Gustave could say more, Erik had leapt to his feet, a frantic look washing over his face. He pushed past the clubbed-footed man, and began racing out the entrance of his chamber, flying through the cavern tunnels, climbing the endless steps and passages of the Paris Opera House, until at last, he reached the familiar stairs that led to the roof. He burst the door open and ran to the ledge, his eyes wild, seeking out a familiar figure amongst the darkened streets.

It was snowing, and snowing very hard. Erik could barely see through all the snow what he was looking for. He peered through the flakes and shadows, scanning the horizon, until…at last…his eyes fell on a small figure, running down one of the main streets.

She had changed her clothes, and was wearing that blue dress she had worn the first day she had arrived. The coat she wore was flimsy and would never keep her properly warm. Her arms held small bundles, and she clutched the bundles tightly to her chest. Erik watched, his eyes wild, as the figure continued to run, faster and faster it seemed, down the street until finally, turning a corner and disappearing from his sight forever.

He lowered his head then, his hands gripping the ledge, his bloody fingers turning the snow red. The sobs came then…long and desperate. The tears flowed down his cheeks like molten fire. He threw his head back and screamed his cry of agony for the entire world to hear.

"CHRISTINE!"

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the second act of our story, Christine retreats to the one place that she can think of, not realizing she has found the one person who can understand her troubles better than anyone else...

_**Entre Act** _

The housekeeper grumbled in irritation as she approached the pounding door. It was the middle of the night, and she was a having a wonderful dream of being a queen in a far away land with servants of her own to tend to her every need. And then, the irritating pounding came, awaking her from her make-believe paradise. Who on God's green earth would be calling this time of night?

She opened the door a crack, only letting the knocker see her face. "Here now! What on earth are you doing at this ungodly hour?" she snapped.

A young woman stood on the door step, several bundles cradled in her arms, her hair a great mass of tangled curls, covered in snowflakes, and she wore a thin coat, one that did not look very warm, proven by the fact that she was shivering and her teeth were chattering. "P-please, I…I n-n-need to…to s-s-speak w-w-with Madame G-g-giry…"

The housekeeper eyed the waif with suspicion. "Do you know what hour it is? Madame is sound asleep, and so should I! Do your begging somewhere else and leave this door step at once!"

The housekeeper moved away and attempted to shut the door, but Christine's hand shot out, catching the door before it fully closed. "Please…l-let me speak w-w-w-with her…I b-b-beg of you…"

The housekeeper frowned and attempted to push Christine away. "Go away, you vile, disgusting, little–"

"What seems to be the problem, Isabel?"

Christine looked past the angry housekeeper and felt relief wash over her at the sight of Meg Giry. "Oh, Meg, please…I…I n-need to speak with–"

"Don't go bothering the young miss!" the housekeeper retorted in Christine's face. "Just some pauper attempting to take advantage of Madame's charity," she informed Meg.

"Isabel wait!" Meg placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and pried the housekeeper away from the door. "Christine?"

Christine wanted to smile, so happy to see someone she knew, but she was cold, tired, and emotionally exhausted after everything she had endured that night. The smile was fleeting, and gave way to a cascade of tears that were only inevitable. Meg ignored the housekeeper's harsh words about letting a beggar in, and drew Christine inside the small home of the ballet mistress and her daughter.

"My God, you're frozen all over!" Meg gasped at the feel of Christine's hands. "Come, sit here, and I'll fetch Luc to build you a fire and Isabel will make you some hot tea."

The housekeeper's eyes widened at the mention of her name. "I most certainly will not! You can't go trusting some homeless waif that shows up on our doorstep just because–"

"Do as my daughter says, Isabel," came a cold voice from above.

All heads turned to the top of the narrow staircase to see Madame Giry descend the steps, tying a dark robe around her body. "Meg, go wake Luc to build that fire, and then fetch Mademoiselle Daae a clean night gown, as well as a robe. Isabel, make us a whole pot of hot spiced tea."

It wasn't a request, it was a clear demand. The housekeeper eyed Christine warily one last time, before grumbling and disappearing in the way of the kitchen. Meg also disappeared to fetch the other servant to build the fire, as well as to get clean clothes for Christine. She sat alone with Madame Giry in the small parlor; the snow that had crowned her curls had now melted and left her hair a cold wet mass.

Luc, the other servant, entered the room and quickly went to work lighting the parlor's fireplace. Meg then returned with fresh nightclothes for Christine and took the young woman to her room where Christine could change. Christine then returned to the parlor, where Madame Giry sat, sipping some of the spiced tea that Isabel had brought. "Feel any better my dear?" she softly asked as Christine sat down across from her.

Christine slowly nodded her head, but Madame Giry could tell the girl was going through an emotional conflict of great proportions. "Thank you Meg, Isabel," Madame Giry softly dismissed. Isabel was all too grateful to go back to bed, yet Meg hesitated.

"Are you sure mama? I don't mind–"

"Thank you dear, but you need your rest, tomorrow will be a very busy day with rehearsals for the new opera," she said in a low voice, her eyes never leaving Christine's face.

Christine practically flinched at the mention of Erik's opera. She had forgotten all about it, and wondered if that had been a lie too. Did Erik really think she had potential for being a great singer? Or were the lessons his way of keeping her there longer so that he could eventually bed her?

Strange…he seemed so genuine when he told her how he wanted to change the ending of _Don Juan_. He also seemed so sincere when he told her he loved her…

Had she been so blind? Or was Erik truly that good of an actor? She didn't know what to think, she was so confused.

"Drink this my dear, it will help," Madame Giry soothed, holding a cup out to Christine. She had been watching the girl ever since she came into the house. She had this distant look in her eyes, the look of one who had experienced some sort of horrifying trauma. Had she been wrong? Perhaps Erik was not in love with Daae's daughter, perhaps her worst fears were correct and Erik had taken advantage of the poor girl, using her for whatever purposes he wished to have sated.

Yet she remembered how Erik turned away with disgust at the mention of raping Christine. It was not just his own honor that he was defending then, but she felt that perhaps he had been defending Christine's as well. Yet love can blind people, she reminded herself. Erik may believe himself in love with Christine Daae, but that didn't mean he was doing what was right by her. Christine had been locked away for months down there, and even if Erik had not laid one hand on her, it was still extremely traumatic to be taken away, locked up, and have one's own family removed.

And yet Erik had been looking for Daae, something he had been clearly doing for Christine. Perhaps he was beginning to see the light of his errors.

"I'm glad you came here," Madame Giry whispered, leaning across and placing a soothing hand on Christine's. "You did the right thing, coming here."

Christine hadn't been paying attention until she felt Madame Giry's hand touch hers. Her mind was far away, in a darker place, with the memory of the man she loved, God help her, the man she still loved…and yet it had all been an illusion.

"I didn't know where else to go," she softly murmured.

Madame Giry smiled, yet it was a sad smile, one full of pity for the young woman. "You are always welcome here, my dear. Should anything ever happen, you will always have a place here."

Christine looked down at the teacup she held in her hands. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, suddenly, her memory stirred to why she had sought out Madame Giry in the first place. "My father!" Christine gasped, the teacup almost falling off her lap. "He is being held in a Paris prison! We must go to him! Please, we must free him at once–"

"Hush my dear, I promise you we shall, but we must wait till dawn, then we shall go at once and release him."

Christine looked at Madame Giry, a puzzled expression written across her face. It was then that she thought it odd that the ballet mistress hadn't even questioned to where either she, or her father, had been all this time. True, Christine reminded herself, Carlotta had fired her in front of both Madame Giry and the managers, and therefore the ballet mistress may not have assumed Christine had been missing this whole time. But to suddenly show up on her doorstep without warning…and to blindly accept everything Christine was saying…

Did Madame Giry know more than she was letting on?

"You say that as though…you're not surprised to learn he is in jail…" Christine whispered, a new feeling of anxiety coming over her.

Madame Giry recognized the emotion the young woman was feeling and reached out, grasping both of Christine's hands in her own. "My dear, I only just learned the news tonight…and…I only just made the discovery about…about you being kept below by Erik, tonight as well," she sighed.

Christine's eyes widened further at Madame Giry's revelation. "You…you know Erik?"

The older woman nodded her head, releasing Christine's hands and leaning back in the chair she sat on. "Yes, I know him," she sighed again and looked down at her own teacup. "One could say I was his…liaison to the outside world. The Phantom's representative to the world above."

"Of course," Christine murmured, the pieces of this strange puzzle falling together. "How else would he have gotten food, fabric for clothing, even the money…"

Madame Giry lifted a dark brow at Christine's words. "Money?"

Christine nodded her head and then reached down, picking up one of the small bundles that she had carried in with her. She opened the bundle, reveling a cascade of gold coins. "He…" Christine stopped momentarily to wipe one of her cheeks. "That is, the Phantom…he gave this to me…" she did not wish to explain the full reasons why Erik had given her the money, but she could tell the older woman her intentions. "He knew about my father too," she whispered. "He said I could use the money to free him."

Madame Giry nodded her head with understanding. She had provided Erik and his little family with many things over the years; food, fabric for clothes, parchment for music, books, candles, oil for lamps, and many other things. Yet she never gave him money, for she knew he would only waste it on prostitutes. She was aware that Erik had developed the art of pick pocketing, although he justified his stealing by only taking money from those who could more than afford it, such as the Vicomte de Chagny. If Raoul only knew how much money he was losing every night he went to the opera…

However, seeing this huge pile of money that Christine had revealed caused the ballet mistress to take pause and think about Erik in a new light. She had many thoughts go through her head when she saw Christine that night; she had hoped her words would have softened Erik to at least the thought of releasing Christine, but she had not expected that he would have done it so soon. Also, he had revealed to the girl that her father was in jail; yet something about the way Christine had said, "he knew about my father too", caused Madame Giry's brow to crease with confusion. Christine made it sound as if Erik had known for some time that Daae was in jail, which she knew for a fact was not true. Erik always tried to give off a stony exterior, yet when she had delivered the news to him earlier that night about Daae, he had been taken completely by surprise.

What had transpired between both Erik and Christine after she left?

"That is a hearty fortune my dear," Madame Giry murmured, taking another sip from her teacup. "It will certainly be enough to help your father," she added, hoping to give Christine a chance to smile.

_Foolish notion_ , she thought to herself. The poor girl had just learned that her father, who had been missing all these months, was in jail somewhere in Paris. She wouldn't be happy until she and the old man were reunited. "Come," Madame Giry sighed, rising from her chair and reaching to take Christine's teacup. "There is a spare bedroom next door to Isabel's. I wish I could offer you better, especially a place away from my grumpy housekeeper," she muttered. Madame Giry wondered how Christine had been living these past few months. Had she been caged? No, she could not imagine Erik being that cruel, however, she had never imagined Erik keeping a girl, period! Perhaps she slept in the same chamber with the others…on a pile of rags. This bed may be the first Christine had slept on in a long time. The tiny servant's room may seem like a palace.

Christine followed Madame Giry's example, and rose from her chair, hugging all the bundles to her body, afraid that if she let them go long enough, she may lose one of them. She said nothing; she simply followed the ballet mistress to the spare bedroom she had mentioned.

"Here we are," Madame Giry motioned to the door. "There are clean sheets and blankets, and I promise to wake you as soon as it's dawn, and we will go at once to fetch your father."

Christine nodded her head, although she knew that she wouldn't get any sleep that night. However, before Madame Giry turned to leave, Christine reached out and grasped the older woman's arm. "Madame, I…I need to know something…"

Madame Giry looked at Christine with concern, thinking that perhaps the girl wished to know what prison her father was being kept in, or how, perhaps, she had come to this information about her father.

However, her question was none of those things. In fact, it took the ballet mistress completely by surprise.

"How…how well do you know the Phantom?"

Madame Giry looked down at the girl, Christine's blue eyes shimmering with new tears and filled with a need to hear answers to many unspoken questions.

"Well," she took in a deep breath and began. "I met him when I was younger…not as young as you, but before I married, and not long after I began dancing in Paris. He was only seventeen at the time; I remember recognizing him from the carnival. I'm not proud to admit it, but I went with several girls to the carnival and I remember seeing him there, caged and beaten…" she spoke these words with such venom. "The night I met him, I thought I was alone. I was rehearsing for a complicated scene in the upcoming opera, when I heard a noise from off stage. I followed it and found him trapped, his leg caught in a trap door that led below stage. He had been looking for scraps, and when he heard me enter the auditorium, he attempted to flee but got himself caught," she sighed, remembering everything so clearly as if it were yesterday. "I helped him free himself, to which he said nothing, he simply dashed away. I was surprised that he was there, but I was also happy…happy that he had escaped such a horrible place. The next day, I stayed late again, only this time I had brought food with me. I placed it near the trap door I had found him at the other night, and sure enough, he came," she smiled softly to herself. "He was starving, it was quite obvious, and for the next few nights, that's what I did…I brought rations and would leave them by the trap door. And then, one night, he finally spoke to me."

Christine had been enraptured by this tale, and all thoughts of how things had transpired earlier seemed to have vanished. "And? What did he say?"

"He said, 'could you bring more for my friends?'," Madame Giry could not help but smile tenderly at the memory. Christine found herself smiling too, and then a wave of confusion coming over her. How could a man, who cared so deeply for his companions, be as cruel as he had been to her that night? It just didn't make any sense…

"The next night I did as he asked, bringing more food than usual. I soon learned that while he had eaten some of the food I had brought him the night before, he was giving larger portions to the others. This way, they all could have an equal share," she explained. "And then, the night that followed that one, Erik struck a bargain with me. I was to begin a ghost story in the ballet, about a mysterious creature called The Phantom, who haunted the Paris Opera House, and who oversaw everything. If one didn't do as they were told, The Phantom would see to them. And then I was to say that The Phantom lived beneath the opera house, and anyone who dared to enter his domain, would not return…alive. And thus began the legend of the Opera Ghost," Madame Giry concluded.

Christine looked up at Madame Giry, puzzlement still written across her pretty face. "In all the time you've known him, has Erik–I mean, the Phantom, has he…has he ever taken anyone…hostage?"

Madame Giry slowly shook her head, a hand rising to brush across the girl's face. "No my dear, at least not that I have been aware of…" she paused, her own brow furrowing. "Of course…I did not learn that he held you prisoner until tonight," she confessed. "I had my suspicions, for instance, the night at the New Year's masquerade I thought I recognized you–and then my suspicions were confirmed when I realized the lady in gold had disappeared with Red Death…but I was never sure, until tonight."

Christine had felt her heart lift and then dash into a thousand pieces. She had been hoping that Madame Giry would tell her that Erik was not capable of the cruelty he had inflicted. Yes, she knew he could be frightening, but she knew that his reasons were to protect himself and his friends from trespassers. However, if Madame Giry had only tonight learned of Christine living below, there may have been other times she was not aware of Erik keeping someone else below for…whatever purposes he had.

"You really should get some rest, my dear," Madame Giry murmured, coaxing Christine into the small bedroom. "Tomorrow will be a new day, we shall find your father, and everything will be made right."

Christine wanted to agree with the woman, but her heart was still breaking. She simply nodded her head and shut the door of the tiny bedroom. She placed the small bundles she had been cradling down upon the bed, eyeing them all carefully. There were four bundles total; the money that Erik had thrown at her feet, and the others were items she had gathered from her chambers.

She slowly sat down and began to unwrap them, her fingers shaking as each bundle slowly revealed its secrets.

One held the books Erik had given her. She ran her fingers across the leather bindings, remembering how happy she had been upon discovering her gift.

The second bundle contained the dresses Suzette had made for her. They were plain compared to the grand gowns Erik had fetched for her from the costume cages, but they were dear gifts that she treasured. A tear trickled down her cheek as she thought of her friends who she sadly did not say goodbye to.

The final bundle was one that Christine was very wary of opening. It was the smallest of all the bundles, and she still questioned herself as to why she brought it. Yet at the time, when she looked at it, she couldn't imagine leaving it either.

Slowly, she opened the bundle, her fingers trembling as she did so. Inside, lay one of Erik's black leather gloves. One evening he had come to her chamber, and they made love for what felt like hours. Erik had dropped the glove, and she always meant to bring it to him, but always forgot. Tonight, she spotted the glove, and without another moment's hesitation, snatched it up and stuffed it in with her other bundles.

Christine lifted the glove and ran her fingers along the smooth black leather, remembering how his hands felt when they had touched her, how tender he had been when they first made love, how careful he always was when they were together. He never rushed her, he always waited until she was ready; what had happened to them?

She squeezed her eyes shut as hot fresh tears began to pour down her cheeks. She ran the glove's smooth fabric along her cheek, wishing it truly was Erik's hand, that he would be there and tell her it had all been a horrible misunderstanding, that he didn't mean what he said, that it had been a nightmare–that he still loved her and would never do anything to hurt her.

She opened her eyes then, and let out a soft wail as she sadly realized she was still in the tiny bedroom. Indeed, this was a nightmare…but it was one that she was living.

 

* * *

 

"HE DID WHAT?"

Gustave winced at the rather ear-piercing shriek from Suzette and Rudolph, but sadly nodded his head.

"S-s-she's…s-s-she's g-g-going away?" Rudolph whimpered, his face already growing wet from tears.

Gustave sighed and reached out, placing one large hand on the hunchback's arm. "Yes…I'm afraid it's true. And she's not going away Rudolph…she's…she's already gone."

Rudolph's eyes widened in disbelief; this couldn't be happening! "But…b-but I thought…I t-t-thought s-she liked it here? I…I t-t-thought s-she liked us?"

Gustave squeezed Rudolph's arm tenderly, wishing he could explain things better for the hunchback. "She does Rudolph, she does, it's just…well…she just had to go."

"WHY?" Rudolph cried, his face now shining from his spilt tears.

Suzette was also struggling with the news. "Christine would never…she would never just leave without saying anything to us!"

"Well, she did, so get over it," Jacque grumbled from his corner.

Suzette turned towards the hook-handed man, her eyes narrowing into tiny slits of fire. "You had something to do with this, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU!"

Jacque sprang to his feet, his own eyes burning with the same angry fire, his hook shining in the firelight. "You know nothing! Do not accuse me unless you have proof!"

"Stop it!" Gustave roared, his hand already rubbing Rudolph's shoulder, which was trembling from his sobs. "Fighting will not bring Christine back; nor will it help the Master," he murmured.

Jacque and Suzette glared at one another before Jacque retreated back into his darkened corner. Suzette took Rudolph's large hand in her tiny one and led the hunchback over to his bed, where she coaxed him to sit down. The anger still burned within her eyes and veins, but she tried to calm herself so as not to upset Rudolph further.

"You never cared for her, you always made that abundantly clear," she grumbled towards Jacque.  
Jacque glared back at her, but said nothing. He simply stared at the shadows and huddled his body around the heap of rags that he slept on.

Gustave watched Jacque pensively for a moment, before Rudolph's question interrupted his thoughts. "W-w-why…w-w-why d-did Christine h-h-have t-to go?" he hiccupped here and there through his sobbing.

Gustave sighed. "You remember how the Master was giving Christine singing lessons?" Rudolph nodded his head. "Well…the Master made a bargain with Christine; if she would let him train her voice, he would…he would release her when the time was right," Gustave lifted his hand to brush away a tear that was trickling down his own cheek. "I suppose that he felt that now was the right time."

Suzette's brow creased with confusion. "But…but surely she will come back? I mean…if what you say is true, if the Master truly made such a bargain with Christine, then…then surely she would at least visit…"

"S-s-she h-has to!" Rudolph wailed, before scooping up the tiny black kitten that was trying to sleep next to his pillow. "Carmen! S-s-she f-f-forgot Carmen!"

Suzette eyed Jacque from his corner, an uneasy feeling washing over her. "I'm not wrong with thinking that you do know something more to all this…" she murmured. Jacque said nothing, he simply huddled his body closer, attempting to turn his back on the prying eyes of his companions. "Jacque…" Suzette rose from Rudolph's bed and began marching towards the hook-handed man. "Jacque you will answer me," she said through clipped lips. "You at least owe us that much."

"I owe you nothing!" Jacque snapped, turning slightly to send the tiny woman a death glare.

Suzette was not phased one bit by the look. "What do you know about Christine's leaving?"

Without warning, Jacque leapt to his feet once more, this time he was bearing down upon Suzette, his eyes wild with anger and…something else. "You want to know what I know? FINE! But I will not be blamed for this!" he shouted. "I was doing my part for the Master, I was doing my job! He ordered me to search for the girl's father, that was EXACTLY what I did! And I found him, yes I found him!" he roared at all three of them. "He was in a prison cell, I overheard two police officers say his name and how they had been holding him for quite some time…" he paused as he recalled the danger of the situation. "They saw me…not my face, or my…" he glanced down at his hook and moved his arm behind his back. "But they saw my shadow and chased me…if it hadn't been for her, I would have…I…I would have…" his words trailed off as the nightmares from the past began to fill his head.

Gustave slowly approached the trembling man, his voice calm and soothing. "Who helped you Jacque?"

Jacque woke from his trance and glanced into Gustave's eyes, before looking once more at the ground. "Madame Giry," he muttered. "She pulled me into her carriage and brought me back to the opera house," he paused for a moment before continuing. "She demanded that I take her to see the Master."

Suzette gasped, her tiny hands flying to her mouth. "Madame Giry was here? She spoke with the Master?"

Jacque nodded his head, but couldn't look into anyone's eyes. "She…she said it was important…and…and I knew it had something to do with Christine…I…I didn't know what else to do, and I had to tell the Master about Christine's father–"

"It's alright Jacque," Gustave interrupted. "Madame Giry can be a very commanding person; if you had not taken her to the Master, I'm sure she would have discovered her own way inside…and you're right, you had to tell the Master about Monsieur Daae."

Jacque said nothing; he simply kept his eyes to the ground. "I listened for a short while, outside the Master's chambers…they were arguing, he and Madame Giry; arguing about Christine."

"Oh dear," Suzette whispered. "She must have thought the Master had kidnapped her and…and done terrible things to the poor girl!"

Jacque slowly nodded his head. "The Master must have heard me, because he quickly led Madame Giry from the chamber to another place…I…I dared not follow, the Master looked…I've never seen the Master look so angry in all my years of knowing him…"

A chill went down the spines of all four friends. They had known Erik for many years, and they had seen his fits of rage and the extremes his temper could be taken. But something about Jacque's words caused a sense of dread to creep into the hearts of all of them.

"Well, that explains it then," Gustave sighed. "The Master released her because of her father. If he was in prison, Christine had to go and save him, naturally."

Suzette lowered her head, a feeling of shame washing over her. "I'm so selfish–I had forgotten all about the poor old man. Of course, Christine had to go and save him, she had to go and be with him," yet Suzette's brow was still creased with worry. "But…but something still doesn't make sense. I understand Christine's need for leaving, but…but why didn't she say goodbye?"

Gustave shook his head. "I'm not sure. Perhaps…perhaps she thought it would be too painful?" He reflected on his thoughts and slowly murmured, "You should have seen the Master's face. I…I've never seen him like that before…"

Jacque's eyes widened at these words. "W-w-what do you mean? W-was he still angry?"

"No Jacque, you do not need to fear him," Gustave reassured, but no calming smile creased his lips. Instead, his eyes shown the deepest concern a person could ever show for another. "I've never seen the Master look…look so sad. As if his very life had been sucked out of his body–not even his music could give him joy. He just…he looked so lifeless, so–"

"He's in love," Suzette whispered, yet her words rang clearer than any bell.

Gustave sighed, and softly nodded his head.

The others stared at her, their eyes wide as realization slowly fell upon them. "I…I always wondered since the night Christine had gone above to warn the Master if something…if something had happened between them…"

"They were spending much of their time together…" Gustave continued. "And the Master had given me specific instructions to come to his chambers this evening and bring my bible…"

"And he was hard at work when I brought Madame Giry in to see him," Jacque finished. "He was smiling when I first saw him…and then he became so angry, especially when Madame Giry began to…well, to accuse him of doing horrible things to Christine…"

Suzette looked at the others, a tiny smile lighting her face. "After all this time…the Master has learned to love."

"And that is why he released Christine," Gustave sighed. "He knew her father needed her, and he knew she missed him dreadfully."

"But it wasn't enough," Jacque muttered. "She's still gone, for a good reason, yes, but she's not coming back, you said so yourself that the Master told you she's gone for good."

"But surely she will come back! I mean, where will the poor girl stay, even after she's saved her father?" Suzette bit her lip with worry. "I mean, she loves him! We all know that she loves him, and if he loves her…well, they should be together! And her father could stay here too, they could–"

"Suzette," Gustave interrupted, his eyes full of wisdom and truth, truth that Suzette did not want to see.

"Yes, yes, I know," she sighed, feeling tears burn her eyes. "I just…she brought light to our darkened world, and for once I believed in the goodness of humanity because of her," she smiled as several memories of Christine returned. "And while we have no choice to live in hiding…this is no world for a woman like her, or an old man."

Gustave nodded his head, although he too was saddened by the truth of the situation. "The Master knew what he was doing…and he did the right thing by letting her go."

"Yes, you're right," Suzette sighed, although her heart was aching with the sad truth. "I just hope Rudolph can understand why she had to go. Rudolph?" she turned towards the hunchback's bed, but gasped when she realized he was gone.

"Where…where did he…?"

"Must have left while we were talking," Jacque grumbled. "Took that blasted kitten with him too," he pointed to the blank spot on the bed where Carmen had been sleeping.

"Oh dear," Suzette bit her lip. "We have to find him, he won't understand, he'll think she abandoned him–"

"It will be all right," Gustave soothed. "We'll explain everything when we see him later, but for now, let him have some time to himself."

Suzette nodded her head, but a horrible feeling was washing over her body. "Yes, of course…it's just…something doesn't feel right," she murmured, more to herself than to the others. "Something doesn't feel right at all…"

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine is reunited with her father at long last. But a mysterious visitor brings more questions to Christine's already confused heart...

_**Reunion** _

"What do you mean this isn't enough? I have well over 300 franks in gold!"

The officer groaned and shook his head, feeling a pounding migraine come on from the young woman's screeching. The sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon when the young woman came barging into the station, demanding that her father be released at once. Behind her followed another woman, dressed in black from head to toe. The officer recognized the older woman immediately, yet tried to advert his eyes from hers; she made him feel like a fly caught in a spider's web.

"I'm sorry mademoiselle, but it is not enough, as I've told you now for the fourth time."

Christine's eyes narrowed into hateful slits. She wanted to leap across the counter that separated her from the police officer and strangle him. It seemed as if some of Erik's violent ruthlessness had rubbed off on her.

"What crime has this man committed?" she barked at him, her hands flattening on the counter top, as if preparing herself to vault over it and throttle him. "He is an old man, gentle and harmless; he's MY FATHER!" she shouted, not caring if her scream caused the officer to wince in pain. "I DEMAND THAT YOU RELEASE HIM AT ONCE!"

"I CAN'T DO THAT!" the officer shouted back, his own rage clearly seen in his pale brown eyes.

Madame Giry, who had been standing by and watching the scene this whole while could not be silent any longer. She had entered the station, determined to keep her mouth closed, knowing that this was Christine's battle, and thinking that with over 300 gold franks, Daae would be in the girl's arms before one counted to ten.

Something wasn't right; a man like Daae could be released with less than 100 franks. No, they were keeping him for some reason…or for some one. And Madame Giry had a good idea who was behind it…

"Why exactly can you not release him?" she asked, very calmly, surprising both Christine and the officer with her tone. Yet despite the tranquility of her voice, her eyes held only dark wrathful promises if the officer did not respond to her liking.

"I…that is…" he swallowed the growing lump in his throat, trying to keep his wits about him despite the cold stare she was sending his way. "This man is a lunatic, for one."

"HE MOST CERTAINLY IS NOT!" Christine shouted, pounding her fist down on the counter.

"The man was raving about a monster!" the officer continued, ignoring Christine's protests. "He came in here, talking about some sort of masked fiend that had stolen his daughter, or something like that. He was clearly mad! Such a man is not safe in public!"

Christine's teeth clenched at the man's words. "I am his daughter!" she hissed. "And I am here, now, so you can release him!"

The officer turned back to Christine, weary of the woman's screeches and fits of temper. "Yes, mademoiselle, I see that, but all the more reason to point to the man's lunacy! And how do I know you're the man's daughter? You could be some strumpet that was hired–"

"You dare you speak to a lady in such a way?"

Both Christine and Madame Giry had been prepared to throw their fists at the officer for saying such things, but the third voice stopped them and they turned to see who had spoken…both completely shocked at the figure that stood in the doorway.

"Monsieur Vicomte!" the officer gasped, bowing as if being presented before royalty. "I…I didn't mean…that is…I beg your pardon, monsieur, but I–"

"You were simply being an imbecile," Raoul growled at the officer. "Now apologize at once to the lady!"

The officer stared at the Vicomte as if the man were a strange creature from another world. Then, he immediately turned toward Christine and began apologizing for his behavior in a series of blubbers.

Madame Giry simply watched with narrowed suspicious eyes.

"It's a start," Raoul growled once more, turning away from the officer to face Christine.

Christine stared up at the handsome Vicomte, not sure what to say or think. Of all the people in this world who would come to her defense, he was the last man she had ever imagined doing so. True, while the Vicomte had the appearance of a gallant knight coming to a maiden's rescue on a charging white steed, she knew him to be pompous, arrogant, and extremely conceited. Also, his behavior in the past did not win him merit for being chivalrous. So what was he doing there?

"Mademoiselle," Raoul greeted with a deep bow. "I apologize for the rudeness you had to endure just then; I promise you I shall speak with this man's superior on your behalf."

Christine gave a slight curtsy out of politeness, but still looked at the Vicomte with wary eyes. "I thank you for your offer, but that is not necessary–I'm sure nothing of the sort will be necessary if he simply accepts my offer and gives me what I have come here for!" she hissed once more at the officer.

Raoul turned his head, his eyes catching the officer who was fidgeting nervously from all the stares he was receiving. "And what offer is that, mademoiselle, if you don't mind me asking?"

Madame Giry wanted to open her mouth and shout at the Vicomte to stop playing games. He knew why they were there, she was sure he was responsible for Daae's imprisonment; she just needed proof.

She was surprised when Christine responded to the Vicomte's question. "They are keeping my father prisoner," she explained, lifting her chin in defiance. "I offer over 300 franks in gold, and yet I am told it is not enough to release him!"

Raoul's calm coolness almost fell away at the mention of the amount of money she carried. Over 300 gold franks? Compared to his vast wealth, the amount was nothing; but where did she obtain such an amount? Christine's puzzled expression reminded him that his questions would have to wait for a later time.

"Keep your money, mademoiselle, I shall take care of the payment."

Everyone in the small lobby stared at the Vicomte, as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the moon by simply sprouting wings. "I…I b-b-beg your pardon?" Christine finally stammered after the shock had washed over her.

"Monsieur?" the officer asked, his eyes filled with confusion.

Raoul reached across the counter, grabbed the officer by this coat collar, and shook him hard. "RELEASE HIM!" he roared, before pushing the officer away from him in disgust.

The man didn't say another word; he scrambled away from the Vicomte and went through a door that led to the prison cells. Madame Giry eyed the Vicomte suspiciously once more; she had not missed the officer's surprise by the Vicomte's declaration.

Christine's heart began to lift as she saw the officer disappear, wondering how her father was, anxious to see him and to hold him close. She looked up at the Vicomte, joy lit in her face, but confusion still clouding her eyes. "W-w-what do you mean y-you will take care of the payment?"

"I mean exactly that," Raoul said, bowing to her once more as he had done before. "Keep your money and allow me to do this for you."

"But monsieur, there is no need for that–"

"Nonsense," he interrupted, reaching out and taking her hand in his. "It may come as a surprise to you, mademoiselle, but I remember your father's kindness to me. And if there is any way I can help either of you, please, do not hesitate–"

Madame Giry was seething. She was prepared to take her walking stick and rail it against the Vicomte's unsuspecting lying head, but before she could even begin to lift it, the door the officer had gone through burst open once more, and several men came out, each hauling another man forward.

"PAPA!" Christine cried, rushing past the Vicomte towards the frail old man, pushing through several of the officers so that she could throw her arms around her father.

But she stopped short, her breath catching in her throat and her face paling at the sight. "P-p-papa?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her father wasn't walking; these men were dragging him. A hand flew to Christine's mouth as she took in the sight of her father–there were bruises on his face, a cut on the side of his lip, he was covered from head to toe in absolute filth, his clothes were mere shreds of fabric, and he looked so thin and frail…as if he could snap in two by a simple twitch.

Cold silent tears coursed down her cheeks. "What have you done to him?" she gasped, her eyes wide with fear and anger at the officers who were holding him. "YOU MONSTERS! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?"

Daae let out a great cough and Christine's attention fell to her father once more. She pushed the men away from him and wrapped her trembling arms around her father's weak and feeble form. "Papa…Papa, it's me, I'm here…I'm here," she whispered into his ear as she held him even tighter, fighting back the sobs that threatened to burst forth.

"H-h-he d-d-did it to himself, mademoiselle, I swear!" one officer argued, but quickly shrank away at the cold stare Madame Giry sent towards him.

"Papa? Papa, it's me, it's Christine, I have you now, you're safe…Papa, don't you understand me?" there was still no answer from the frail old man. "Papa?" Christine turned her face up towards the officer who had been there earlier. "What's wrong? Why can't he talk?"

The officer sighed, glanced briefly at Raoul, and then looked back at Christine. "He's been sick for some time mademoiselle–one prisoner that we brought in had Consumption…he infected over half the prisoners and two officers."

Christine's eyes widened in horror at the man's words. "WHY DIDN'T YOU GET A DOCTOR?"

The officer stared at her as if that were the oddest thing to suggest. "Beg your pardon, mademoiselle, but…they're prisoners. It would be a horrid waste of money–"

"Do shut up," Raoul growled at the man, jabbing the end of his walking stick in the officer's stomach. He glared for a long time at the small crowd of Paris policemen before kneeling down to where Christine held her father on the floor. "I have a carriage just outside. Is there some place I can take you? I will have my valet fetch my doctor and he will examine your father."

Christine was so overtaken by the shock of the situation that she had barely heard the Vicomte's offer. She simply stared up at him, her cheeks moist with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of Madame Giry's cane harshly tapping the floor spoke for itself.

"There will be no need for that," the ballet mistress hissed, pushing her way past the stunned Vicomte and bending to help Christine lift the old man to his feet. "I have my own carriage to transport us, and I will have my doctor fetched to help Monsieur Daae. Good day to you monsieur!" she icily snapped.

Raoul's eyes narrowed at the figure of the ballet mistress, but he did not hesitate to help carry Daae out of the station and to Madame Giry's carriage. Any other day, Madame Giry would have told the Vicomte to shove off, but both she and Christine were struggling to carry the old man, so for this moment, she bit her tongue.

Once Christine's father was securely inside the carriage, Christine turned to face the Vicomte and gave a small curtsy. "Thank you, monsieur," she said simply, before climbing into the carriage herself.

However, before the door shut, Raoul reached out and grasped one of Christine's small, gloved hands. "Please, should you need anything…anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."

Madame Giry took hold of Christine's wrist and pulled her hand away from the Vicomte's. "You're too kind, monsieur," she muttered sarcastically, before shouting instructions to her driver.

"Do send me word when he recovers!" Raoul called out to Christine, watching as Madame Giry's gray carriage disappeared around a corner. He stood there for a long moment, gazing down the street, contemplating on all that had taken place.

She was free.

Her face, while he was pleased to see it, was the last he had expected to greet him at the police station that morning. And he had not failed to notice that Madame Giry was with her; somehow Madame Giry had learned that Daae was being kept there, yet it seemed she had not managed to figure out how he had come to be there, or who was responsible for keeping him there.

Just as well, he would not have his plans ruined, not when he was so close to obtaining that which he desired more than anything. How she managed to escape the Phantom's realm he knew not, but that would be learned soon enough. Right now, he had more pressing concerns to attend to.

 

* * *

 

Christine paced back and forth in her room, hugging the red shawl she wore around her shoulders ever closer to her body, biting her fingernails and wincing when she reached the quick.

She could not stand this suspense; it was driving her mad! The doctor had been summoned the second she and Madame Giry reached the older woman's town house. Madame Giry ordered Isabel to immediately begin boiling water, and had Luc carry the old man up to Madame Giry's own room. Within the hour, the doctor was there, and had been there all morning and a good portion of the afternoon. While the doctor said nothing, Christine's worst fears were growing by the second…

Her father had Consumption, or heaven forbid, Influenza. The way the doctor hovered around him, checking his pulse, checking his heartbeat, ordering for more hot water, fresh linens, and more pillows to elevate his head…

Christine could not bear it any longer, she broke down in sobs and the doctor had to order her to be taken out of the room. She sat in the tiny servant's bedroom just a few doors down, but she could still make out some of the hushed whispers between the ballet mistress and the doctor.

It wasn't looking good.

The doctor kept commenting on her father's breathing, how it wasn't regular, it wasn't right. He would also comment on how weak his pulse seemed to be growing, and Madame Giry would respond if there was any more she could do, but the doctor never responded, he simply commented on how they had to wait; wait and see what happened.

Christine couldn't sit still, she had been pacing for what felt like hours, and her eyes were red, swollen, and dry from all the tears she had shed. What would she do if her father never recovered? She didn't want to think of such things, but the impending doom of the situation continued to grow further and further with every passing hour.

She couldn't lose her father after finding him again. There were so many things she needed to tell him, so many things she wanted to say.

She wanted to apologize for being so selfish and losing herself in the arms of another man, a man who was in fact the enemy, a man who had attempted to kill her father, and in the end, threw him out onto the streets to suffer at the hands of the elements and the cruelty of humanity.

She had been so foolish. She was an ungrateful child, playing princess in a dark mystical realm like the characters from her gothic novels, never thinking about the world above, never thinking about the suffering her father was enduring, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He must have been so worried for her…and what had she done?

She lost herself to passion. The fires were kindled within her heart, but how quickly they were extinguished when reality came crashing down.

Erik had been right…

This was no fairy tale. He was no gallant hero on a white charger that turned into a handsome prince from true love's first kiss…

She had been such a fool. A fool for losing herself in passion, a fool for giving her body away too easily, a fool for…for falling in love…

God above, help her. She still loved him…

She collapsed onto the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling up into a tight ball. How could she have been so blind? She always thought of herself as being a sensible person, thinking with her head instead of her heart. Perhaps that was the problem…perhaps she had clouded her head with too many gothic romances?

She shut her eyes, praying to drown out the sounds of servants, rushing back and forth along the corridor carrying pots of boiling water and clean linens. She didn't want to hear the doctor give yet another poor diagnosis, she didn't want to hear the hopelessness in Madame Giry's voice, she didn't want to hear her father's gurgled breathing, but then when it stopped, her heart would only freeze with horror that perhaps he had stopped breathing.

She just wanted everything to be as it had been, before coming to Paris, before losing their farm, before her mother died…

_"Christine…"_

No. This was the last thing she wanted to hear…

_"Christine…"_

"Go away," she whispered into the sheets, burying her face against them, wanting his voice to vanish completely from the world. She did not think herself strong enough to listen to his voice, to the seductive combinations of his baritone and tenor.

_"Christine, I have missed you…"_

"Erik please," she whimpered against the sheets. "Do not do this, leave me be."

_"Come back to me…come back and stay with me…"_

Her heart skipped a beat at the words. "I can't…you don't love me, you told me it was all a lie…"

_"I do love you Christine…I'm sorry for hurting you, I wanted to spare you of the life you would have lived, locked under ground, separate from the world above–I thought I was doing the right thing, sacrificing my desires so that you would not be condemned to the same life I am."_

Christine held her breath at his words. He loved her? Everything he had done…all those horrible things he had said…they weren't true?

With a shaky breath, she lifted her head away from the sheets, her eyes glancing upward towards the wall in front of her. She let out a gasp as she saw his shadow cast against the wall from the setting sun.

She was not sure she had the courage to face him. "No more lies Erik. I…I don't know what to believe anymore…"

_"Believe that I love you. I know that I have betrayed your trust, I know that I have caused you pain, and I curse myself for every tear that I caused you to shed. I…I thought I was doing the right thing…I thought I was being selfish, keeping you in my world, a world without sunlight, a world without fields, forests, and horizons. I thought that perhaps…it is better that she leave, but that she leave hating me, despising me, wishing she had never known me…and then perhaps her pain would be less. Perhaps she could live the life she was meant to live, forgetting me completely, or at least sooner than…than I would be able to forget her. In truth, I would never…I could never forget you. You not only taught me to love, Christine…you taught me that I was not a monster, but a man. You showed me passion, faith, hope…and the goodness of humanity. I…I do not blame you if you hate me, in fact, I do not ask for your forgiveness for I do not deserve it. I do not believe I am worthy of your forgiveness, let alone your love. But I do realize that what I did, saying what I said, forcing you to go…was the most foolish thing I have ever done in my whole life. I understand if you struggle with trusting me, I do not blame you…but please know this…I will spend the rest of my days telling you and showing you, how deeply I love you. I will gladly worship the ground on which you tread, and spend my life pleasing you in whatever manner I can."_

Christine did not think she had any tears left in her body, but slowly, she began to feel them trickle down her face. She looked down at her hands; they were shaking. "You…you really love me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

She let a long shaky gasp, as she felt his hand touch her shoulder, gently, but warmly. _"More than music itself,"_ he whispered back.

She could not hold back any longer. Her heart was bursting, just as the tears were bursting forth, gushing in streams down her cheeks. "Oh Erik!" she turned then, ready to throw her arms around her lover, her friend, her Phantom…

"Christine! Christine!"

Her eyes flew open as she felt her body being shaken. She looked up through wet lashes, her hopes sinking as the face she gazed at was none other than Madame Giry's.

It had been a dream.

"You fell asleep my dear," Madame Giry informed, helping Christine to sit up. Christine's heart sank even further as her suspicions were confirmed. She should have known that it was a dream, after all, how could Erik have been there in Madame Giry's home? It just…it had all felt so real, even the touch of his hand on her shoulder…

"I have wonderful news!" Madame Giry said excitedly. Christine quickly wiped her cheeks, took a deep breath, and turned to face the ballet mistress, determined not to give anything in her eyes away about her recent dream. "Your father…" she began.

Christine's face lit up at the words. "Is he better?" she asked, her voice so shaky. Lord, she prayed that this wasn't a dream either…

"Oh much better than that!" Madame Giry grinned. "He was suffering from a severe fever, but it has broken. The worst is over! And he did not have Consumption as we had feared. And…" she smiled, squeezing Christine's hands. "He is calling for you…"

Christine's eyes widened. "He's…he's awake?"

Madame Giry simply nodded her head, and watched with happiness as the girl leapt from the bed and ran to the room where he was lying. "PAPA! PAPA!"

Daae's head lifted at the sound of his daughter's voice, and he cried out happily as she burst through the door and flew to his bedside. "CHRISTINE!" he gasped, so pleased to see his daughter safe and sound, his frail arms wrapping around her as she collapsed against him, hugging him so tightly.

"Oh Papa…" she cried against his chest, her arms holding him even tighter. He was safe, he was awake, and he was breathing strongly; everything was going to be fine.

"Oh my sweet girl," Daae murmured into Christine's hair, his hand running through the chocolate tangled curls. "How I have missed you and how I have longed to know if you were alright."

"I'm fine, Papa, I'm fine," she grinned through the joyful tears that were trickling down her face. "Oh I missed you so much, I was so scared, so very scared…"

Daae's arms, while still very weak, tightened around his daughter at her words. "Hush my dear, there's nothing to be afraid of anymore…you're safe."

Christine frowned slightly at his words, and then realized what he meant by them. "Oh Papa, no, you misunderstand, I meant I was scared that you weren't–"

"How did you escape?"

Christine was taken aback by her father's question. In truth, it was something she had not considered. Would he believe her if she simply told him that the Phantom had released her? Would anyone?

Her father gripped her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him, fear written across his face. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voice shaking with terror, but trying to sound strong. "Did…did he…" he couldn't bring himself to say the words; it was too horrible to even comprehend.

Christine took hold of one of his hands and gently squeezed it. "I am fine Papa, no, he did not harm me in any way…"

 _Other than breaking my heart_ , she thought to herself. But even that seemed odd. His words at the time were biting and horrible, meant to cause grief, anger, and pain. And yet her recent dream…made some sort of odd sense. His face had been so cold, and yet…did she not see pain in the very depths of his eyes? And if truly he had only meant to use her for his own purposes…why was he so gentle with her when they made love? Why pretend to love her? Why pretend to be tender, to be caring? Why care at all to how she felt when they laid together? Even the greatest actor in the world could not pretend all that.

Or did her heart simply want to believe in her dream?

"Christine, please! I need to know!"

She awoke from her trance and gazed back at her father who looked desperate. "Answer me, please…how did you escape?"

Christine did not know why Erik had said those cruel things, but a part of her, once a tiny voice now growing louder and louder, wanted to believe that his cruelty had been the performance, not his love. "I didn't escape Papa," she murmured softly, taking his hands in hers and smiling gently into his eyes. "He let me go."

Daae stared back at his daughter, his brow furrowed with confusion. "W-w-what?"

"It's true," Christine sighed, squeezing his hands tighter. "He released me…he told me I was free to leave."

Daae continued to stare with confusion. This didn't make any sense! "That horrible…monstrous…fiend, simply let you go?"

Christine knew it would be too hard for her father to believe. After all, his only encounter with the Phantom had been one filled with malice, fear, and revenge. How would he even begin to understand that during the long months she had spent with Erik, she was treated more like an equal, than a prisoner?

"He's…he's different now, Papa…" she softly murmured, unsure if he heard her.

 _At least he seemed different_ , Christine thought to herself, sadly.

Daae shook his head, confusion still etched across his face. "I just don't understand…I truly don't understand…"

Christine gave his hands another squeeze before bending her head to kiss his brow. "The important thing is that we're together, and we're both safe," she smiled, tenderly touching his cheek.

Daae gazed back up at his daughter and returned her warm smile. "Yes, yes, you're quite right. And while I do not understand how…how such a beast could show such mercy by letting you go…I am grateful that you are here. Oh Christine, I have missed you," he sobbed, pulling her back into his arms and holding her close.

Christine smiled, despite the tears, and hugged him just as tightly. But was it truly mercy that Erik had shown? While she was grateful to be reunited with her father, she also longed for her Phantom.

She cursed herself for being silly and selfish; basically she wanted her cake and to eat it too, but in truth, that could not be. She could not have her father and stay with Erik, and vice versa. Perhaps the dream had been truer than she had thought; perhaps Erik had long since realized that the two of them could never be…and decided to end this childish fantasy.

She quickly wiped her eyes before looking back at her father, forcing a happy smile. "I will go down at once and get you some hot soup. You need to eat if you are to get your strength back," she smiled, leaning once more and kissing his forehead.

Daae smiled as Christine rose from the bed and walked towards the door. "It is so good to see you again," he sighed happily.

Christine turned and smiled back, forcing her breaking heart to stop its selfish splintering. "I love you Papa," she whispered.

"I love you, my child," he murmured back, before settling under the blankets and gently closing his eyes. She watched him for a moment longer, before finally turning and shutting the door.

"Isabel is making some soup," Madame Giry murmured, startling Christine in the corridor. "You look tired my dear, perhaps you should get some rest?"

Christine's eyes went wide at the ballet mistress' suggestion. While she could not deny she was tired (unless one finds oneself greatly worrying over something, one will not understand how exhausting worry can be), the mere thought of falling asleep and having another dream, frightened Christine. She was not sure if she could bear the reality that the last dream had presented, again.

"I'm fine," Christine lied, smiling at the ballet mistress. "I'm just so happy that he's alright. Oh Madame Giry, I cannot thank you enough for all that you've done."

The ballet mistress smiled, but she could not stop thinking about the words Christine had spoken in her sleep earlier, when she had gone in to wake the poor girl up.

Erik.

Christine had cried out Erik's name, and she had said it in such a way that Madame Giry found herself doubting her original suspicions about what had gone on between the Phantom and his prisoner. Was it possible? Did Christine return Erik's affections?

"Madame Giry?"

The older woman shook her head, realizing that Christine was looking at her with some worry. "I'm sorry my dear, I believe I am feeling a little exhausted myself. But sleep will have to wait," she turned towards the stairs and began to descend them. "I must go to the Opera House and see how the ballet are doing with rehearsals. But I will be back shortly, as will Meg," she smiled up at the girl.

Christine had forgotten all about the opera. She remembered Madame Giry mentioning something about it the night before to Meg. She decided it was something she need not think about at the moment, besides, after recent events, she was not even sure if Erik would want her in it. She was not even sure if she wanted to be a part of it…

"I'll tell Isabel to bring the soup up when it's ready," Madame Giry informed, before disappearing through the kitchen doors.

Christine smiled faintly, her thoughts already filling with questions about _Don Juan Triumphant_ , but those thoughts quickly disappeared when she heard a strange sound come from the servant's bedroom she had been occupying earlier.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she distinctly heard the sound of a man's voice, grunting. Was it possible? Was Erik…had Erik…?

She flew down the small corridor to the room she had been in earlier, throwing the door wide open. "Erik?" she called into the growing darkness.

Something moved in one of the shadowy corners. Christine held her breath as she watched the figure, which had been crouched on the ground, rise to its full height…

"C-c-c-christine?"

Christine gasped at the voice, and slowly, her eyes adjusting to the shadows, she realized who exactly had crept into the room. "Rudolph?"

Rudolph slowly emerged from his hiding place, looking both happy and bashful at the sight of her. "Oh Christine!" he cried out, engulfing her in his big arms and pulling her tightly against him.

Christine was happy to see the hunchback too, but had to push against him slightly so that he would not crush her completely. "I…I k-knew I c-c-could find you!" he grinned. "I…I just…I just f-f-followed your f-footprints in the snow…a-a-and w-waited till it got d-d-dark, before c-c-climbing through the w-window," he stuttered proudly.

Christine stared up at him as realization slowly dawned on her. "You mean…you followed me all the way here last night?" she gasped.

Rudolph nodded his head. "It was g-g-g-getting c-close to m-morning w-w-when I left, though…s-s-so I had to h-hide in Madame G-g-giry's s-stable, w-with the horses during the d-d-day."

Christine's eyes widened even more. "You stayed in that stable…all day?" she gasped.

Rudolph grinned. "I like horses. T-t-they let me p-p-pet them," he happily pointed to the palm of his hand, which still had a little horsehair on it.

Christine shook her head, trying to grasp everything Rudolph was telling her. "But…but if you've been there all day, why didn't I see you when Madame Giry and I took the carriage and left for the police station?"

Rudolph looked down at his feet. "I…I didn't want M-m-madame Giry to s-s-see me. I was a-a-afraid she would force me t-t-to go back. S-s-so I hid u-up in the rafters when you t-t-took the carriage…a-a-and when you brought it back."

"But why Rudolph? Why did you follow me? Why did you hide in the stable?" All she could think about was poor Suzette and how worried the little woman must be.

Rudolph looked at Christine strangely. He had thought it had been obvious to why he had come. "Y-y-you l-left w-w-without s-saying goodbye," he whimpered softly. Christine felt her heart sting with pain. "A-a-and you f-f-forgot Carmen," he explained, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the black kitten, which mewed in protest from being removed from its warm cozy pouch.

Christine bit her lip, determined not to show Rudolph any tears. She reached out and gently rubbed her fingers against the kitten's furry head. "Thank you, Rudolph," she whispered, taking the kitten in her arms and gently petting it till it began to purr. "But now that it is dark, you must hurry back. Suzette must be sick with worry–"

"B-b-but you're coming w-with me, a-aren't you?"

Christine looked up at Rudolph's face and saw the hope within his eyes. Of course, she should have realized. He had come not to say goodbye, but to bring her back…to bring her home.

"Rudolph…" Christine placed Carmen on the bed, and then reached out to take his large hand in hers. "I know that this might be hard to understand…but I can't go back…" _Even if I wanted to_ , she silently thought to herself.

Rudolph's face scrunched up with sad confusion. "B-b-but w-why?"

Christine sighed. "Well, you see, my father was in prison…but now he's free. But he was very sick and is only just now getting better–"

"You c-c-can bring him!" Rudolph cried, hope once more returning to his voice. "I mean…w-w-when he g-g-gets better, y-you can bring him b-back w-with you."

Christine couldn't help but smile at Rudolph's solution. If only it were that simple. "I wish I could," she sighed. "But…my father needs me. And…I need to stay with him…here."

She could not have both worlds, it was just not meant to be. She couldn't be selfish any longer, she had to make a choice…and she had made hers. Either way, her heart would break.

Rudolph looked back at her, the sadness returning to his eyes. "B-b-but…b-but I thought…I thought you liked us…"

 _Oh God, give me strength_ , she prayed. "I do, Rudolph, please believe me, I do like you…all of you, and I will miss you very much."

"Is it b-b-because of t-t-the Master?" he asked.

Christine felt her body grow tense. Did Rudolph know all that had happened?

"I k-know t-t-that the Master c-can be s-s-scary sometimes," he continued. "A-and I know that he's ugly–"

Christine had to interrupt. "He's not ugly," she stated firmly. "None of you are ugly. It's the world that's ugly, for not seeing the beauty within the heart and soul of it's fellow man."

Rudolph couldn't help but blush at her words. "All p-people s-should be like you Christine…"

Christine smiled, but quickly shook her head. "No Rudolph…" she murmured, her hand rising to touch his cheek. "All people should be like you and your family."

Rudolph blushed again. "Suzette is right…"

Christine bit her lip. "R-r-right about what?"

Rudolph smiled softly. "T-t-that the Master h-has n-n-never been s-s-so happy s-since he met you."

Christine felt the tears trickle once more down her face from Rudolph's revelation. How she wanted to believe his words, how she wanted to believe that voice in her head that kept telling her that something was wrong, that Erik didn't mean what he said the other night. But she didn't know what to believe; she wasn't sure if she could trust her heart.

"H-h-he loves you…" Rudolph murmured, smiling back at Christine. "I k-know it. I've s-seen the w-way he looks at you…I c-c-can hear it in the way he t-talks to you. And I know t-t-that you love him," he declared. "So y-you should be together!"

Christine turned her face away and released Rudolph's hand. "I…I want to believe that," she whispered. "But…I can't go back Rudolph. I…I need to stay with my father. I need to stay in the world above. And, I think your master understands that too," she sighed, although she hated the reality of it all.

Rudolph stared at her, his sadness giving way to anger. "N-no!" he practically shouted. Christine whirled around at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide with surprise; she had never heard Rudolph become angry before. "Y-you a-a-and the Master d-d-deserve t-to be together!" he stomped, causing the furniture in the room to shake.

"What's going on up there?" Isabel shouted from downstairs.

"Don't you s-see? It's j-j-just like that story!"

"What's causing all that racket?" Isabel shouted again, only this time it sounded as if she were climbing the stairs.

Christine began to push Rudolph towards the window, knowing that if Madame Giry's housekeeper caught sight of the hunchback, she'd scream till every police officer in all of Paris was there.

"Christine, don't y-y-you understand?" he implored.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. "No Rudolph, what story are you talking about?"

" _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_!" he almost shouted. "Y-y-you a-and the Master belong t-t-together j-just like the hunchback a-and the gypsy girl!"

Christine closed her eyes at Rudolph's words, feeling her heart grow even heavier.

"The w-w-world t-thought him ugly…b-but the gypsy girl loved him! A-a-and they did live h-happily ever after! See? It c-c-can happen! It d-d-does!"

"IT DOESN'T!" Christine shouted, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized the words that had just escaped.

Rudolph stared back down at her, his eyes wide with horror from her words. Christine stared back; feeling horrible for shouting at him, let alone smashing his hopes. She wanted to apologize, to tell him that he was right, that fairy tales can come true and that sad endings could be rewritten. But the sound of the housekeeper's footsteps coming along the corridor at a quick pace brought reality crashing back.

"You must go!" she hissed, urging Rudolph to escape.

"I hear voices!" Isabel accused from the corridor. "Mademoiselle? To whom are you talking?"

Christine ignored the housekeeper. "Quickly! Run all the way back to the opera house, do not stop until you get there, don't let anyone see you!"

"Mademoiselle!" Isabel shouted once more.

"B-b-b-but Christine–"

"GO!" she hissed once more, gasping and turning around as the housekeeper threw the door open and stomped into the room.

"What the devil is going on in here?" she growled, glaring at Christine coldly.

Christine quickly glanced over her shoulder at the window, a long sigh of relief escaping as she realized Rudolph had gotten away. "N-n-nothing," she lied.

Isabel continued to glare at Christine with suspicion. "I heard you talking to someone, and I heard stomping coming from below! What were you doing?"

Christine bit her lip, not sure exactly how to explain herself. "I um…t-t-that is…I w-was praying."

The housekeeper cocked an eyebrow. "Praying?"

"Yes," Christine quickly continued. "I…I was so thankful t-that my father was awake and on the mend, t-t-that I was thanking God, a-and d-dancing for joy…" she weakly demonstrated a giddy dance, hoping that the housekeeper would accept her answer and leave.

Isabel eyed Christine strangely. "You are a funny one, mademoiselle." It was clear insult.

She turned to leave, and then let out a shriek. Carmen, startled by the housekeeper's intrusion, leapt to her feet and was hissing at the grumpy woman. "How in high holy heaven did _that_ get in here?"

Christine swooped forward, catching the hissing kitten before the housekeeper could hurt it. "She's mine," she defended, holding Carmen close.

Isabel scrunched her nose at the hissing creature. "I hate cats," she grumbled. "And the mistress' daughter is allergic to them! I won't let you keep that beast in this house!"

"She'll stay in this room until my father fully recovers!" Christine practically growled at the woman. "And then you can be rid of us all!"

Isabel lifted her chin and turned her back on the girl. "The sooner, the better."

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conflicts arise for several characters; conflicts of conscience, conflicts of the heart, and conflicts of doing what is right...

_**Conflict** _

Suzette bit her lip as she slowly peeked her head through the entryway of Erik's chamber. "M-m-master?" she softly called out, but to which she received no reply. She took a deep breath and entered the chamber, prepared to deal with the gathering storm that was surely ready to break should the Master be disturbed, but gasped loudly at the sight before her.

The place was in shambles. Curtains were torn, music strewn about, and many of the stone busts and figures that decorated the chamber lay smashed into thousands of pieces across the floor. A hand flew to Suzette's mouth as she realized that the piano had been overthrown as well, the ivory and ebony keys lying in a heap on the ground, while several long stiff wires from within the instrument had been pulled, looking like some grotesque sculpture from one's nightmare.

"What are you doing here?"

Suzette nearly screamed as she felt two strong hands grasp her by the shoulders and whirl her around. Her hand flew to her heart and she panted with relief when she realized the voice and hands had belonged to Gustave.

"You shouldn't be here," Gustave warned, glancing up and quickly ushering Suzette away from the ransacked chamber.

"What happened?" Suzette whispered, constantly glancing back at the chamber's entryway.

Gustave sighed and looked down at the ground. "Did you hear those noises last night?" he whispered.

How could she not? Sleep was impossible, they were all too saddened by the news of Christine's departure, but their silent sorrow was interrupted by loud crashes and anguished cries that filled the night air.

There was no question as to who was causing the noises…but now she knew what the Master had been doing.

"Did you see his piano?" Suzette murmured. "I…I never imagined him destroying…" she knew that the Master's sorrow was great…she just had not comprehended the lengths his sorrow could go. To destroy his own music and the instruments he dearly cherished, the only things that brought joy into his life…

There was no joy left in this world. All that was good, all that which had caused delight in their lives, had vanished with Christine.

"The Master needs his time…we must grant him that, at the very least," Gustave whispered, moving away from the chamber's entrance.

Suzette silently nodded her head, but a cloud of worry was already washing over her. If the Master was capable of destroying his precious piano, he was also capable of behaving most irrationally when it came to his own health. "Gustave…you haven't by any chance seen Rudolph today, have you?"

Her heart sank as Gustave shook his head. "I'm sure he is fine," he reassured, a weak attempt at trying to ease Suzette's worry. "We all just…need time. Time will heal…" although not even Gustave was certain his words provided any comfort. Could time heal such wounds as this? He glanced once more at the wreckage of the music chamber and sighed heavily. Gustave always had his faith to fall back on when things seemed bleak; it would take a miracle to lighten the despair that hovered over their dark world.

 

* * *

 

Raoul groaned and rolled over onto his side, his chest slick with perspiration. He reached for his jacket, which was lying nearby, and pulled his cigar case out from his inner pocket. He lit the cigar and inhaled deeply, relaxing as the smoke filled his nostrils.

"I think those things are disgusting," came the voice beside him. Raoul shut his eyes, as if that gesture alone would shut out the woman's voice. "However, you smoking after we make love is always a sure sign that I pleasured you greatly…" she purred, moving her head to nestle against his chest, her tongue flicking out to tease his ear.

Raoul grunted, but not out of pleasure–more out of annoyance. He stiffened at the words "make love"; he always made it clear that what he did was "fucking", never "making love". When a man made love to a woman it meant he owed her something, and Raoul never wanted Carlotta to think he owed her anything.

He took another long puff on the cigar, before gently pushing the blonde soprano's head off his chest. Carlotta pouted as she felt Raoul rise from the bed, and her pout only increased as she watched him pull on his breeches. "Why do you always rush off?" she complained. "If you stay a little longer, I'll do that thing with my tongue that I know you enjoy…" she grinned, running her tongue seductively across her lips.

Raoul showed no amusement at her offer, and only continued to get dressed.

Carlotta's grin quickly disappeared, and her eyes narrowed into angry slits. "I swear, sometimes you make me feel like a cheap whore," she spat, angrily folding her arms across her chest.

Raoul said nothing; the truth would only infuriate Carlotta further.

She glanced at him again; annoyed that he was not even acknowledging her presence. With an outraged shriek, she grabbed one of the bed pillows and flung it at his head. Raoul took a deep calming breath before finally turning back to the pouting soprano. "You have something you wish to express, my dear?" he asked sweetly, although the tone was dripping with sarcasm. He took the pillow that she had thrown and flung it back at her.

Carlotta glared at him and quickly sat up, fire burning in her eyes. "I'm getting tired of this Raoul," she hissed angrily.

Raoul cocked an eyebrow at her words. "Truly? I thought you enjoyed our 'meetings', my dear," he could not help but grin at the angry frown she cast his way.

"You know what I mean!" she snapped, gathering the sheets around her body. "At first I thought you were simply an awestruck admirer."

Raoul smiled fondly at the memory. "Tis true, I can not deny that upon our first meeting, I was indeed awestruck," he grinned, remembering the way he had her beg for him rip her dress off and take her between acts in the corridor just past the stage.

Carlotta did not show any sign of fond remembrance. "As time went on however, I began to realize that it wasn't the 'pleasure' of my company that you sought, but rather…an opportunity for you to get something!"

Raoul closed his eyes briefly, his thumb and forefinger rising to rub the bridge of his nose. He would need all the patience he could muster for this one.

"I know all the stories about you, monsieur," she muttered with disgust. "And don't think that I've forgotten how you wanted to seduce my costume girl all those months ago!" she accused.

Raoul pasted a look of hurt across his face before sitting back down at the edge of the bed. "You believe those vicious rumors? They are spun by silly ballet girls who are jealous of your beauty, your talent, and your charisma in the bedroom–"

Carlotta rolled her eyes and rose from the bed, gripping the sheets tightly around her body as she began to stalk back and forth across the dressing room floor. "You are a worse liar than those two imbeciles who run this opera house!"

Raoul let out a long frustrated sigh before rising once more. "Clearly you have something on your mind, and clearly it's not entirely about my hasty departure. So why don't you simply say what's bothering you, after all, you never hold back your disdain to anyone else," he growled, while leaning against the dressing table.

Carlotta cast him a vengeful stare, before fully turning and facing him. "You all must think I am a complete idiot!" she charged, her face darkening with anger. Raoul held his tongue, although the temptation was extremely great. "But I am not as blind as you may think, Monsieur Vicomte," she spat.

Raoul groaned and rubbed his nose once more. "Meaning?"

"Meaning this pile of shit that you and the managers dare call opera!" she screeched. "I am not blind Raoul! I have noticed how Ubaldo has been singing the lead at rehearsals…but what I find interesting is that we have no female lead. In fact, we are conveniently skipping her scenes and songs altogether!"

Raoul gripped the edges of Carlotta's dressing table to keep himself from reaching out and throttling the prima donna.

She eyed him suspiciously and slowly sauntered over to him. "In fact…I think that your 'visits' are simply a way to keep me distracted from what is really going on," she murmured, running the tips of her fingers along his chest. "Am I wrong?"

Raoul smiled down at her, although it was not a smile of seduction, rather of one that was obviously covering up feelings of annoyance.

Carlotta returned the smile, however hers was one of calculation and triumph. She turned on her heel and began to walk away from the Vicomte. "I want a copy of that piss-awful opera in my dressing room within the next hour," she ordered.

Raoul eyed Carlotta's back and watched as the diva dropped the sheets, before stepping into her dressing gown. "Are you threatening me, senora?" he calmly asked, resuming his cigar smoking.

Carlotta turned to face him as she finished tying the sash of her dressing gown. "If you wish to call it that," she replied haughtily.

Raoul moved away from the dressing table as Carlotta marched towards it and sat herself down, running a brush through her disheveled blonde curls. He continued to watch her as a hawk watches the prey its about to devour. "And if I do not comply with your orders?" he simply inquired.

Carlotta put the brush down and stared back at him in the reflection of her mirror. "Paris is not the only city that wants me, monsieur," she spat. "I have many offers. Vienna has been begging me to come and perform on their stage for over a year. And Brussels has made an offer that by far exceeds what this company pitifully calls a salary."

Raoul could not help but smile at her threats. "But why stop there? I'm sure Madrid would pay handsomely for you, perhaps London? Stockholm? Berlin? The list could go on! Why, I'm sure that even your beloved Venice would sell its soul for the opportunity to have its prima donna grace the stage once more."

Carlotta slammed her brush down once more. "Perhaps they would!" she screeched. "And perhaps I will take their offers! I should, after the horrible ways that you and this company have treated me!" she grumbled.

Raoul's smile darkened and his eyes locked with hers in the mirror. "But you won't," he simply said.

Carlotta whirled around and stared at him. "Who says I won't? You? HA!" she laughed. "You silly aristocrats, thinking that you can buy anything, even stars like myself!" She turned back towards the mirror and began to powder her face. "I can not be bought, monsieur, and I will not be used any longer! I will have that role in this opera, or you will be the one to suffer!"

Raoul cocked an eyebrow at her words. "How so?"

She couldn't help but grin evilly. "Money matters very much to you and the managers. If I go, so go your ticket sales."

"Ah, but there you are wrong," Raoul sighed, his arms moving around his back. "You see my dear, you weren't the only one doing some detective work."

Carlotta froze at his words. "W-w-what do you mean?"

Raoul could not help but grin. "Simply that I decided to investigate these so-called 'pleas' that you have been receiving," he paused as he watched the color drain completely from Carlotta's face. "There are no pleas. Vienna could care less of what became of you, and Brussels has actually pleaded that we do not release ourselves of you, in fear that you would come to them," he leaned down till his face was just hovering over her shoulder, staring back at her in the mirror. "No one wants you Carlotta…not even your beloved Venice. The great La Carlotta Guidicelli is no longer great; she is simply a memory of someone who perhaps at one point in her career had some talent…and you're scared as hell if Paris releases itself of you."

He straightened himself up and continued to watch as the prima donna sat completely still, not even moving an eyelash…save for a single tear that trickled down her over-made up cheek. "In truth, senora," Raoul continued, reaching for his suit jacket, "it is I who have helped you maintain your fame and fortune here in Paris. I am regarded as the patron saint of the arts in this city; whatever the Vicomte de Chagny deems as worthy to patronize, so goes society. I have filled society's ears with praises of your great name and talent, although we all know that's a white lie," he sighed. "In a manner of speaking, I have brainwashed society into still believing you are the great star that at one time you were. My scheming, with the power of your name, has brought much wealth to this opera house, but in the end, it is I who holds the cards Carlotta…not you."

Raoul adjusted his jacket and picked up his walking stick and hat. "I bid you good day senora…and I trust that you'll go along with the instructions for this opera. I have too much resting on it to let some spoiled soprano ruin it for me." He calmly opened the dressing room door, only to find Piangi standing on the other side, his eyes wide with horror at being discovered by the Vicomte. "Ah! Senor, I do believe I am finished; by all means, have at her."

Raoul never looked back as Carlotta's angry screams filled the corridor, along with the sound of smashing vase.

 

* * *

 

"More?" Christine inquired, grinning as her father finished a third bowl of soup. He was too busy slurping the bottom of the bowl, to hear Christine's question. "Well, its good see that at least your appetite has returned," she giggled, taking the empty bowl away and placing it on a tray.

Daae smiled and took his daughter's hand in his own. "I must say, I do feel my strength improving," he sighed happily. "Although, I believe most of that is because of you," he said, squeezing her hand.

Christine squeezed his back, so happy that he was alright and they were together. But there remained that gnawing feeling of despair, a feeling that she feared would never fully leave.

"Are you alright dear?" Daae asked, his smile disappearing and being replaced with a look of concern.

Christine was startled by the question. "What? Oh! Oh, I'm fine, truly Papa, I was just…thinking about how we could ever repay Madame Giry for her kindness to us these last few days."

The old man's smile returned and nodded his head to his daughter's words. "Yes, both she and her daughter have been true friends to us these last few days, as you said," he sighed, leaning back in the bed. "Both they and the Vicomte."

Christine's head snapped up. "The Vicomte?" she asked, her eyes growing wide from the revelation. "The Vicomte de Chagny?"

Her father returned the puzzled look, his brow furrowing at the way she spoke. "Why yes, of course…I had assumed that he had been the one to tell you of my whereabouts."

Christine rose to her feet, although her legs felt rather shaky. "Madame Giry had recently learned of your imprisonment and was the one who took me to you…w-what does the Vicomte de Chagny have to do with all this?" she asked, her voice somewhere between trembling suspense and screeching hysteria.

"Calm down my dear, you say that as though the man has done some great ill against us, when in truth, he has shown such loyal friendship."

Christine took a deep breath to try and calm herself, but in truth, she desperately needed answers. "Papa, please, explain to me about how the Vicomte de Chagny knew of you being in the prison."

Daae stared at his daughter as if he were afraid she'd leap out the window. What had gotten into her? She sounded ready to go mad! "The Vicomte learned of my imprisonment and came to visit me," he explained. "Unlike those imbeciles who call themselves detectives, he believed me when I told him about the Phantom kidnapping you."

Christine's eyes narrowed with confusion. "You…you told him that?"

"Yes, of course! I wanted to save you, but…those idiots wouldn't listen," he sighed with annoyance. "They thought me mad, and locked me up. But the Vicomte learned of my whereabouts and came directly to me. He tried to have me released, fully prepared to pay the bail himself, but those idiots claimed that I could only be released to a member of my own family. Huh, can you believe it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "A man with the connections, the wealth, and the power of the Vicomte de Chagny, was not regarded as good enough to believe. He even implored them, telling them that my words were true, that you were in great danger, but still, they wouldn't listen," a small smile creased at the corners of his mouth. "I suppose in our misunderstanding, the Vicomte and I are not very different."

Christine frowned slightly at these words. "Yes, but the difference of course being that you, a poor working class man, is deemed a threat to society and must be locked away, while he, an aristocrat who is also telling the same story, is free to go about as he pleases." She could not help but hide the venom in her voice.

Daae shook his head, as if the reality of the situation meant little to him. "The world has always been prejudiced to the poor, I was not the first example, nor will I be the last."

Christine knew her father to be right, but she was not as ready as he was to happily draw the comparison between the two men.

"I am very grateful to him though," he continued, turning and smiling at her while taking her hand in his. "I know there was nothing he could do, about rescuing you I mean. After all, we both know how heavily laden with traps that place is," Daae murmured, a shudder going through him at the memory. "And it would take an army to overthrow that fiend. Sadly, because the police would not believe the Vicomte's story, he could not assemble a mob to overtake the Phantom's lair."

Christine felt her blood freeze at her father's words; even more at the hateful tone in which he said them. She pulled her hand away from his, a gesture which startled the old man. "Christine? Is something wrong?"

She inwardly cursed herself for her silly gesture. She couldn't blame her father for his feelings, after all, he had not known the Phantom the way she had. But the very thought of a mob, bursting through the barriers Erik had spent years perfecting, and possibly hurting him and the others, caused her blood to boil with rage.

"If you're finished, I'll take your bowl downstairs," Christine offered, her hand going out to the empty soup bowl.

Daae watched his daughter with sad eyes, cursing himself for being foolish enough to bring up the past. His poor child, it must have been extremely traumatic, all those months, locked away in a world of darkness. He would never understand the reasons as to why the Phantom simply "released her", as Christine insisted, but whatever the reasons, he was so grateful to have her back, safe and sound.

"You should get some rest," Christine whispered, bending and kissing his forehead. "Your health has greatly improved, but you are still on the mend."

Daae opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden knock came from the bedroom door. Without waiting for anyone to open the door, Isabel burst in, a deep scowl written across her already grim features.

"There's a gentleman here to see you, mademoiselle," she grumbled.

Christine's brow furrowed with confusion. "A gentleman?"

"Yes, although I don't understand what a man like him would want with a girl like you," she muttered, too soft for Daae to hear, but just at the right level for Christine. "It's the Vicomte de Chagny, and he's presently waiting in the parlor downstairs."

"Oh! The Vicomte is here?" Daae asked, his face lighting up with pleasure. "Oh Christine, you must go down and see him at once! Please, apologize on my behalf, I would like to see him and thank him personally, but will you do it for me?"

Christine smiled faintly at her father, but in truth, she did not share his enthusiasm for the Vicomte's presence.

"He is waiting, mademoiselle," the housekeeper grumbled again, her tone clearly of one filled with irritation.

Christine cast an icy glare at the woman, and then lifted her chin. "I shall be down at once…why don't you make some tea for my guest?"

Isabel returned Christine's cold glare with one of her own, but walked past the young woman on her way to the kitchens.

"You look lovely, my dear!" her father called out to her as she exited the bedroom. Christine inwardly groaned; the Vicomte may have been most helpful to her father, but she should have known he was playing matchmaker once more by the way he filled her ears with praises towards the handsome nobleman.

She descended the stairs and took a deep breath before entering the parlor. The Vicomte stood with his back to her, gazing out the window, his hat, gloves, and walking stick in his hands. "Good day, monsieur," Christine said politely with a curtsy.

Raoul turned around at the sound of Christine's voice and his face seemed to radiate a pleasured glow. "Christine!" he beamed, before quickly bowing in response. "I beg your pardon; Mademoiselle Daae," he corrected. He pulled a chair out for her and offered his hand. "Won't you have a seat?" he asked, his smile continuing to radiate warmth.

Christine smiled back politely, although she could not help but feel somewhat foolish for her lack of manners when it came to being a hostess. After all, it was she who should be offering him a place to sit, but she gratefully took the chair he offered, quickly hiding her embarrassment. "I must say, this is an unexpected surprise," she said while sitting down. She froze as she felt the Vicomte's lips brush over her fingers, but as soon as he had planted the kiss, he had released her hand and was seating himself on the chaise lounge directly across from her.

Christine continued to smile out of politeness, however it didn't compare to the beaming grin that the Vicomte offered her. "I'm afraid Madame Giry is not here, she is–"

"At the opera house, yes," he interrupted. "I just came from there actually, although I did not chance to speak with her."

"Ah," Christine added, not sure how else to respond. Perhaps that was why the Vicomte thought it safe to pay a visit, since the ballet mistress was out? Isabel entered the parlor with the tea tray and placed it on the small table between the two of them. Christine murmured a polite thank you, to which the housekeeper simply grunted.

"How is your father, if I may ask?" Raoul politely inquired, although there did seem to be a genuine feeling of concern in his voice.

"He is greatly improving, thank you," Christine murmured, offering the Vicomte his tea. He gratefully took the cup and saucer, his fingers lingering just slightly over hers as he accepted it, a gesture which caused Christine to shiver, however not in the way she was sure the Vicomte intended.

"I am glad to hear it," he smiled, his eyes lingering on her face as he sipped his tea.

Christine squirmed just slightly under his watchful gaze, sipping her tea but keeping her eyes to the floor. Had he simply come to inquire after her father? Or was there something else? "Monsieur," she began, "I…that is, I am very grateful for what you did at the police station."

Raoul smiled warmly. "It was my pleasure," he softly replied, bowing his head slightly and keeping his eyes focused on her face.

She returned his smile, although it still did not hold the same amount of warmth that his held. "I do want you to know, however, that I fully intend to pay you back, when I get the money," she added firmly; however a worried look passed over her face as she wondered how long that would take.

Raoul's smile disappeared then and was replaced by a look of confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

Christine lifted her eyes to his, somewhat surprised by his surprise. "The money at which you paid for my father's release; I just wanted you to know that I have every intention of paying you back…in fact, I can begin paying you now, actually, I do have that gold–"

Raoul reached out and placed one large hand atop hers. "Christine, you owe me nothing," he reassured. "I was more than happy to help you and your father, please…" he gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "Let this be my gift to you."

Christine eyed him suspiciously for a moment. She had to admit, this did not seem like the Vicomte de Chagny that she knew. Well, in truth, she didn't know very much about the Vicomte de Chagny, other than the stories she had heard from Erik. Yet even Erik's prejudice seemed justified by Madame Giry's mistrust of the man. Besides, she had not forgotten that time he tried to seduce her in his private lounge at the opera house. Does one good deed outweigh a lifetime of sins? She bit her lip at that thought; she wanted to say no, but then she had easily forgiven Erik for the many sins he had committed over the years. Of course the difference there was that she loved him…still.

"Christine?"

She shook her head and returned her gaze to the Vicomte. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with concern, as were his eyes. Perhaps she had poorly misjudged the man? "You seem…troubled, if I may say. Forgive me if I am wrong, though," he quickly added.

Christine shook her head. "No, I am fine, thank you, just…tired, actually," she lied, hoping that would satisfy his curiosity. It seemed to do the trick.

"Of course, you have been very busy, I am sure, helping your father regain his strength. Forgive me; I am probably intruding upon your resting time–"

"No, please," Christine insisted, feeling somewhat ashamed for her prejudice and rudeness towards the man. While she was not ready to trust him, at least not completely, she was thankful for the graces in which he had performed. "I am most thankful for all that you have done, monsieur, it is an honor to have your company."

Raoul beamed once more at her words and settled himself again on the chaise lounge. "The honor is all mine, mademoiselle, and besides, it is not only I who is honored to be in your presence this fine day…"

Christine was puzzled by his words, and opened her mouth to ask what he meant, when suddenly, the door to the kitchens opened, and both Firmin and Andre came bursting forth.

"MADEMOISELLE!" they cried happily, bowing politely, each man beaming as brightly as the Vicomte.

Christine jumped at their entrance and even more so at their outburst. "M-m-messieur's…" she stuttered, her eyes flashing back and forth between Raoul and the managers. "T-t-this is a surprise!" she added, although she wasn't sure which exactly surprised her more: the fact that these men were here, or the fact that they knew the name of Carlotta's costume girl.

"So glad to hear that your father is on the mend," Firmin stated proudly.

"And so happy to see you once more!" Andre included, taking her hand in his and giving it a rather dramatic kiss.

Christine simply stared at each one of them in absolute confusion.

"Messieur's, please, we must allow Mademoiselle Daae an opportunity to regain her composure; I think the two of you scared her to death!" Raoul cheerfully reprimanded, smiling warmly at Christine.

"Oh we do beg your pardon, mademoiselle," Firmin apologized, pulling up a chair and seating himself on Christine's left.

"We are just so overjoyed to have you with us once more," Andre explained, also pulling up a chair and sitting on Christine's right.

Christine was beginning to feel as if the walls were closing in on her.

"I…I am very grateful that you both are pleased to see me…a-as I am pleased to see you," she added politely, although in truth, she had not thought about the two managers since the day they hired her to work for Carlotta.

"I think it would be best if you both explained to Mademoiselle Daae why you are pleased to see her…I do not think it fair to keep her in the dark much longer," Raoul intervened.

Firmin nodded his head in agreement. "Mademoiselle, I know that you have been…away…for some time," he mumbled. "But you should know that during your absence, the Paris Opera House has been having an extraordinary season!"

"Very…unique and original, one must say," Andre added, his smile never fading, despite the somewhat hysterical look in his eyes.

"Indeed so," Firmin agreed. "And now, as our season is coming to a close…we have decided to drop the schedule we originally had, and end the opera year with a rather…um…rather…" Firmin looked to Andre for help.

"Original!" the younger manager cut in.

"Yes! Rather…original, new piece, titled _Don Juan Triumphant_."

Christine's face paled at the words and she suddenly felt as cold as ice. " _D-d-don Juan T-t-triumphant_?"

"Yes, _Don Juan Triumphant_ ," Firmin smiled. "You know, mademoiselle, you say it as if you've heard it before," he added, his gray brow furrowing with confusion.

Christine's eyes went wide and she turned to look at the Vicomte, whose own eyes she caught by surprise; they were like a hawk's, eyeing its prey. "N-no, I um…simply, as you said, it is an opera with a…unique name. Not at all what you originally had planned when the season began, if I remember correctly."

Both managers exchanged a grievous look, each feeling the truth of those words.

"Yes, well, we have been rehearsing for nearly a month now, but are still struggling with certain areas…" Firmin continued.

"Certain areas in regards to casting," Andre clarified, although the bright smile he once wore was now long gone.

Christine stared at both men, her face pale and her eyes wide. Were they asking her what she thought they were asking her?

"Well, I see no point in beating around the bush," Firmin sighed, taking one of Christine's hands in his. "Mademoiselle Daae, it would be a great honor, if you would grace us with your voice in singing the part of Aminta in our opera."

Christine pulled her hand away from Firmin and rose so quickly from her chair that it fell over with a loud thud. Both managers stared up at her in shock, and Raoul rose to his feet as well, concern etched across his handsome features. "Christine? Are you unwell?"

She ignored him and kept her focus entirely on the managers. "Y-y-you're asking me to…to perform…to perform in…"

"The Phantom's opera, yes," Raoul sighed, coming around the table and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. Christine turned and looked at him, her blue eyes wide with questions. "You have a right to know Christine…" Raoul softly murmured, nodding at Andre, who grimaced as he pulled an envelope from his coat pocket.

Christine stared at the envelope that the younger manager held, her legs trembling at the sight of Erik's seal, a blood-red skull. With shaky fingers, she reached for the note, gasping as if someone had struck her when she touched the paper.

Raoul, noticing her reluctance, took the note and opened it. "Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin received this letter several days ago," he explained. "Almost a month ago they received a letter similar to it, containing a casting list for the Phantom's opera. All parts were assigned by the Phantom himself…with the exception of the main female lead."

Christine attempted to swallow the large lump in her throat but found the chore extremely difficult. "This letter gives strict instructions, as all his letters do, as to who shall play the part of Aminta," he continued. "It mentions one single name: Christine Daae." He held the letter up for her to see, and Christine let out a long shaky breath as she read her name in Erik's unique handwriting.

Her world was spinning. Christine shook her head violently so as to make the whirlwind stop. She crossed the room then, her arms gripping the red shawl that she wore ever more tightly around her body. She reached out and gripped the windowsill for support, her eyes gazing northward where she could see the spires of the Paris Opera House overhead.

The managers rose from their chairs, each casting one another and the Vicomte a look of concern. "We…we do not understand ourselves why the Phantom chose you, mademoiselle…" Andre carefully explained. "But…we do know this much; ever since receiving this opera, the demands have been great, but the accidents few and far between."

"We are hoping that by complying with the Phantom's instructions, and performing his opera, he will…perhaps…cease haunting our lives for good," Firmin added, although his voice held something that Christine couldn't exactly make out; a hint of assurance, as if he knew for a fact that the notes would stop after opening night of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

"More or less, mademoiselle, it is a selfish reason, true, but we, that is the Paris Opera House, can not afford another scandal this season," Andre sighed. "We can not afford NOT to follow the Phantom's instructions. And so, we come begging, that you will help us in this endeavor by playing the part of Aminta."

Christine bit her lip as several tears betrayed her eyes and slowly began to trickle down her face. Raoul sensed the uneasiness only growing and quickly urged the managers to take their leave. "We look forward to seeing you on stage mademois–" Raoul shut the door before they could finish.

He groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, cursing the two mangers for their lack of understanding. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," Raoul moaned, turning his attention back to Christine. She remained by the window, only this time she was gripping it as if for dear life. "Christine?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. He quickly crossed the room to where she stood, gently reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Christine?"

"I can't believe this is happening," she whispered, turning her face away so that he couldn't see her tears.

Raoul exhaled a long worried sigh, before retrieving his handkerchief and handing it to her. Christine murmured a thank you before taking the handkerchief and blowing her nose. "I know it was horrible of them to ask you to perform, especially after everything you've endured…"

Christine turned to face him then, her face contorted with bewilderment at his words. "What are you saying?"

Raoul gazed down at her for a moment before folding his hands behind his back. "I know about the Phantom taking you prisoner. He originally kidnapped your father, but you…" he smiled softly. "You sacrificed your own life for his. I confess, I have never known such bravery."

Christine gave a faint smile to his words, but now was not the time she wanted to hear how brave she was to endure what truly had been the happiest months of her life.

"I can't even begin to fathom the sort of horrors you must have endured all that time…and I am still in awe of seeing you now, safe and alive," he said with wonder. "However you managed to escape, I can't imagine, but somehow you did find a way."

Christine said nothing; if her father had trouble believing that the Phantom had released her, there was no hope with the Vicomte.

"Christine, forgive me, I know I am being very forward," he reached out and took one of her hands then, enfolding it in his much larger ones. "But I want to offer my services to you."

Her eyes went wide at the words. "I…I b-beg your pardon?" she was very much aware at how iron tight his hands felt when holding hers.

Raoul grinned. "I want to help you, and your father, in any way that I can. I am but your loyal servant," he said with an elegant bow.

Christine gave a faint smile but quickly pulled her hand away. "You are too kind, monsieur, but that won't be necessary."

Raoul frowned slightly at this, but remained steadfast. "Please…my name is Raoul, and it would do me the great honor to hear you call me by it."

Inwardly, Christine was groaning, but she smiled out of politeness and nodded her head. "Very well…Raoul," she tested the word. "You have done more than enough for my father and me, truly, and I am very grateful for your kindness and charity–"

"I do not do these things out of charity, Christine," he said, somewhat darkly. The change in his tone caused Christine to practically jump. Raoul quickly smoothed his tone before continuing. "What I mean is…I know that you do not trust me, and there is no use for arguing," he silenced her when she opened her mouth to protest, "because I can read it in your eyes. You don't trust me, and I can not blame you," he sighed, looking down at the floor before him. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I have not forgotten that day either, and I think you know what day I mean…" he looked into her eyes and Christine felt a tremble go through her body. His face was extremely handsome, there could be no doubt about that…but it also held a darkness. There was darkness in Erik's face too, however his, while dangerous, also held something sensual. The Vicomte's cast no such sensual spell; its darkness remained very sinister, despite his fair-haired Apollo-like beauty.

"I am a man who has been born into a great many privileges. Wealth, power, titles–and yet despite all these privileges, I never realized until that day that the title of 'gentleman' was not one a man was simply given; it was one that he had to earn. I had assumed all my life that because of my money, because of my estate, because I was the next in line to become the Vicomte de Chagny, that I was also a gentleman. However…you taught me that day," he murmured, reaching for her hand once more. "What makes a true gentleman, and it isn't any of those things."

Christine gazed up at him, unsure how to respond. "How…how did I teach you that?"

He smiled down at her, and Christine began to see why many of the ballet girls regarded him as so charming. "By snubbing me, and telling me exactly how insulted you were by my treatment of you," he added, wincing at the memory.

Christine couldn't help but smile slightly. Perhaps he was learning after all. "From that moment," he went on, "I began to realize that my treatment of women was utterly disgusting, and while I am by no means a perfect man," he softly chuckled, "I do owe you my thanks for helping me realize the man that I want to be…"

Christine began to feel slightly uncomfortable with their closeness, and slowly tugged her hand free from his fingers. "You flatter me, monsieur, in ways that I do not deserve."

"I do not think that is possible. I think you deserve every ounce of flattery in this world, and beyond. But I can tell that my boldness is making you very uncomfortable, so I shall cease," he said with a polite smile, taking a step away from her. "But my offer still remains; I would like to be of service to both you and your father, and…if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion?" Curious, Christine nodded her head.

"Madame Giry has been very kind to both you and your father, opening her home and allowing you a place to stay while your father recovers. That is kindness indeed," he smiled. Christine returned the smile, however she was unsure where he was going with this. "However…I have noticed a few…tensions in the household?" he cocked his head in direction of the kitchen to where Isabel had disappeared earlier. "And while I know that Madame Giry would never dream of urging the two of you to leave, I did notice the small pile of newspapers when I first entered the house near the door…all of which were turned towards the listings of available apartments."

Christine felt a flush invade her cheeks, somewhat amazed by the Vicomte's eye for detail. "I have been making inquiries," she explained. "My father is quickly improving, however as soon as he is well enough to venture outside, we shall not intrude upon Madame Giry's hospitality a second longer."

Raoul nodded his head in understanding. "And have you had any luck in your search?"

Christine grimaced slightly. "What we can afford is not much," she whispered. "But we shall make due, we always have in the past," she gave an optimistic smile, despite how she truly felt.

"Yes, well, we can't have that now, can we?" Raoul murmured, his eyes twinkling as he gazed down at Christine. "I know you already feel greatly indebted to me, but please, allow me to make this one other offer. I have friends from the country who sometimes come and visit me when I am in Paris. I keep an apartment for these friends when they visit, but right now, it is available. I already pay the monthly rent for it, and knowing that it is being used by someone, rather than simply collecting dust as it is presently, well…in all actuality, you would be doing me the favor."

Christine gazed up at him, her eyes wide with amazement at his offer. "It is too much…"

"Christine, please, let me do this for you," he implored. "At least let it be for a temporary period. Once you find something that is not only comfortable, but also affordable, you may feel free to move out, no questions asked. But let me help you now…please…"

She gazed into his emerald eyes, searching them for a long time to see if there was any sign of expectation for accepting his offer. She could not find any. Perhaps he truly was changing? "Very well," she whispered. "I shall tell my father the news and when he is ready to move, we shall do so…but it will only be for a temporary period," she emphasized, perhaps a little too bluntly.

Raoul said nothing; he simply bowed his head to her. "You do me a great honor, Christine Daae," he smiled. "I shall begin to make the arrangements for your stay," he pulled his gloves on and put on his hat, walking briskly towards the door. However, once reaching it, he paused and turned to face her once more. "And what of the opera?"

Christine's smile vanished at his words and she felt that chill return. "I…I don't know…" she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

Raoul watched her closely for a moment before speaking again. "As Monsieur Andre said, we do not understand why the Phantom requests that you sing in his opera, and I understand your reluctance Christine…"

She highly doubted that, but she said nothing.

"However, I see this as an opportunity to take something and make it your own."

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Simply that you take this opera, you take this role, and you mold it into something uniquely your own. That way, you have complete control over it, that way you have nothing to fear; it does not rule you…you rule it."

Funny, Christine thought, but those words were so similar to what Erik had once said.

"It is your way of gaining the upper hand on our masked friend," Raoul muttered sarcastically, that cold darkness returning to his voice once more. Christine eyed him warily; was he talking about her or himself? "Besides," Raoul continued, the lightness in his voice returning, "do you really want to see Carlotta butchering this role which is rightfully yours?"

The Vicomte's words caused Christine to stiffen, and a cold wave of realization hit her like an ocean wave. If she didn't sing Aminta, Carlotta would…and despite what happened between her and Erik, she couldn't let that witch murder Erik's work. She didn't know what was true; that gnawing voice in the back of her head that told her to not believe Erik's hateful words was continuing to grow louder. Whether Erik envisioned her to play Aminta or not, Christine believed that she had earned the right to play that part after months of intense training. It may be the Phantom's opera, but it was her character.

"Please tell Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin that I shall report to rehearsals at the beginning of next week."

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine returns to the opera house...and she, along with others, faces the pain of old memories and a broken heart...

_**Pain** _

Four days.

He had locked himself away in that place for four solid days.

Suzette stood outside the chamber, remembering happier times when she had come to it, remembering the laughter that had once filled it, and the warmth that had once radiated from it. But all those things were gone; ever since she left them, life as it seemed, had been taken as well.

The tiny woman held the tray of food in her hands and prepared herself for the argument that she was sure would greet her. Ever since Erik had shut himself away in Christine's former chamber, he refused to see or speak with anyone. At first, Suzette had been leaving trays of food outside the chamber entrance, but she would return later and find the food cold and untouched. Now and then a piece of bread would be found missing from the tray, but not much else. It was as if the Master were trying to waste away…

And yet despite his attempts to disappear, he was still just as mighty and just as fierce. It was only yesterday that he chased her out of the chamber for daring to disturb him, throwing the tray she had brought against the wall, leaving a colorful mushy mess on the stone. Who knew what today would hold? Suzette took a deep breath, and bravely entered the chamber.

"Master?"

He did not answer. She carefully and quietly walked towards him, a ghost-like figure, cloaked in shadow, sitting motionless upon the bed in the center of the room.

Suzette recalled her shock at seeing his chamber; the torn music, the broken statues, and of course, the overturned piano. When she had learned that he had been staying in Christine's chamber, she suspected that it too, would have been torn to pieces. However, much to her surprise, the chamber remained untouched. Everything was perfectly in order, as if she had never left. Erik sat upon the bed, his back towards the entryway, his figure hunched over, as if examining something. Suzette cleared her throat so that he would know of her presence, but still, he remained still and silent.

"Master…I have brought you some food…" she waited for a reply, or at least some acknowledgement that he had heard her, but there was nothing.

"Please…a few crusts of bread here and there will not keep your strength up…"

Nothing.

Suzette sighed and slowly walked around the edge of the bed. The lace curtains were drawn, but Erik's dark figure was clearly visible behind them. What was it that he was examining so intently? She peered through the shadows and saw that his fingers were gently running over the silken fabric of an ivory dress that lay flat on the bed.

"Master, we all miss her–"

"Get out."

He didn't raise his voice; the words were barely above a whisper. But the threat behind them was as clear as a bell ringing on a silent morning. The tiny woman said nothing more; she put the tray of food down and quickly walked back towards the entrance. But before exiting, she paused, and turned once more to face him.

"Why don't you search for her? Find her and tell her of your feelings…" he said nothing; it was like talking to a brick wall. With a heavy heart, Suzette turned away. "She does love you Master, please know that…she loves you…" without another word, the tiny woman picked up her skirts and quickly hurried off before he could respond.

Erik sat in the mute stillness of the chamber, his hand ceasing only momentarily from stroking the fabric. "Not anymore…" he whispered to the shadows. "Not anymore."

 

* * *

 

Christine trembled as she gazed up at the great stage, memories of first entering the Paris Opera House coming back to her as clear as visions from yesterday.

Things were not so different. Then, people were busily preparing for the opening gala–now, they were preparing to put on _Don Juan Triumphant_. Sets were being designed, stage hands worked in the background, painting and installing the various pieces, while the ballet rehearsed another meticulous dance number upstage. The sound of hammering and sawing could be heard throughout the auditorium, oddly mixed with the orchestra's playing. The smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume wafted the air, and in the distance, Carlotta's angry screeches reverberated off the walls. Yes, little had changed since she had last seen this place; in fact, it was as if someone had handed her a painting of her first visit, and she had stepped through it to go back in time. A time when she did not know the Phantom of the Opera, a time when both she and her father had steady work.

A time when she was not afraid of what the future held…

"Ah! Mademoiselle! There you are, at last!" Andre cried happily, leaving the conversation he was having with the conductor and rushing to her side.

Christine smiled back politely, however she regretted his small outburst as dozens of eyes turned to stare at her.

When the Vicomte de Chagny had visited almost a week ago, Christine had felt determined to come and sing the role she believed she had worked so hard to earn, even if Erik had cast her for the role without hearing anyone else. The point being that she had practiced and trained for such a role over long, meticulous hours, many of which had been quite stressful. In her mind, she had earned that role, creating and shaping Aminta's character into Christine's vision of a young woman, desperately in love with a man who did not think he was worthy. The truth of that role stung very deeply, Christine thought.

And yet, as the days past, Christine's doubts began to grow. Had she done the right thing, agreeing to perform? A part of her warned her to stay as far away from the opera house as possible, that returning would only cause further heartache and trouble. But she was also drawn to the place, a part of her wanting desperately to see how Erik's unique musical vision was being brought to life. In the end, despite her worries and fears, she convinced herself that she could at least try one rehearsal and see how things went. Perhaps the managers would not be pleased with her; after all, it had been some time since she had last rehearsed, perhaps it had all been a foolish day dream, that she could not sing as well as she thought, that Erik was completely tone deaf after long months of listening to Carlotta's screeches.

"Mademoiselle?"

Christine shook her head and gazed at the younger manager who smiled and offered her his arm. She smiled back once more, out of politeness, taking his arm and following him as he led her up to the stage. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering about wildly, and her legs felt extremely shaky as she felt every eye turn and fix itself on her. Some expressions were filled with curiosity, others were filled with confusion, and even some held no emotion whatsoever. But it was the stares of disdain and judgment that caused the cold sweat to form on Christine's brow.

"Attention please, attention!" Andre announced, a "salesman" smile pasted across his face. "I would like to introduce you all…to our new star…and lead in this most…" he paused, the next words slightly tricky to get out. "… _original_ , opera," he continued, the smile never fading. "Our Aminta: Christine Daae!" he practically shouted her name and then erupted into applause. Christine's face turned a bright shade of red, as she was quite aware that the only people truly clapping for her were the two managers. Firmin stood off to the side and was also clapping wildly, wearing the same smile that Andre had plastered across his face, as well.

The managers continued clapping and only seemed to just realize that no one else was sharing in their applause. Their smiles disappeared only momentarily as they cast a dark menacing look at the rest of the company, who then broke out into a very light and somewhat faint applause, so light that Christine could hear whispers.

"Wasn't she Carlotta's costume girl? I heard she was fired! Haven't seen her in ages."

"I heard she punched Carlotta in the face…she gets my applause for that, at least."

"Why is she here now? Where has she been all this time?"

"I heard that she was selected by the Phantom himself to play the part!"

"Why would the Phantom pick some nobody to sing the main role?"

"I heard some stagehands say she went below stage."

"That's impossible, if she had done that, she wouldn't be here now!"

"That's not what I heard…I heard she slept with the Vicomte de Chagny to get the part."

"I heard she slept with both him and the managers to get the part!"

"Oh please, the Vicomte de Chagny would never waste his time on a woman like that! Look at her! She's not that pretty. Sure she has some 'country bred' beauty, but this is the city; she won't last too long on stage with that going for her."

"Can she even sing? She doesn't even look like she can manage holding her breath for very long!"

"What makes her so special anyway?"

Christine felt her head grow dizzy as all the whispers swirled around her, and the different stares penetrated her spirit, measuring her up as to whether she was "worthy" in their eyes to even set foot on this stage. But it was one voice in particular that rang out over the others, causing everyone to fall silent, even the unsuspecting managers.

"Ah, so our dear little ingénue has decided to grace us with her presence," Carlotta mocked from off stage, her smile both condescending and venomous.

Christine felt as if she had been hit by an ice storm; the coldness in Carlotta's words, combined with the suspecting stares of others, froze Christine in her place.

"Indeed, let us applaud our newly found star!" she shouted, her hands joining together and clapping loudly. Even her clapping was sarcastic. Christine watched with wary eyes as the woman slowly climbed up to the stage, her eyes floating up and down Christine's figure. "Yes, a star in the making," she chuckled, eyeing Christine's rather plain gray dress. It lacked the lace, ribbons, and ruffles that Carlotta's outrageous orange gown held.

"Senora," Andre greeted warmly, hoping to keep peace between the two women; he had not forgotten Christine's violent outburst upon the prima donna all those months ago. "Perhaps you will be able to offer some advice to Mademoiselle Daae?"

Carlotta smiled at Andre's words and quietly approached the young woman, her dazzling eyes focusing on Christine's pale face. "Of course monsieur, I would be glad to. First," she reached out and held a bit of the material of Christine's dress between her thumb and forefinger. "An opera star needs to dazzle the audience, take them away to far away places…not make them feel that they are simply watching their servants perform," she released the material with disgust.

"Second, an opera star needs to hold her head high, to stand boldly, and to look as though she owns the stage! Not appear meek, or shy, or even sweet…she is not here to win the audience's sympathy, she is here to conquer them with her presence!"

Christine's eyes narrowed as Carlotta walked around her, making her feel like some object on display. "And finally, an opera star needs to be someone who draws attention, someone who can make the audience anticipate her next move, her next breath, and especially her next performance…" she came around and faced Christine fully.

Christine lifted her chin slightly and returned the blonde soprano's steel gaze. "Basically, if I am correct, you are saying that an opera star needs to be more like…you, senora?"

Carlotta's lips curved into a wicked smile. "There may be hope for you yet, my dear," she purred, reaching out and patting Christine on the cheek like one would pat their dog.

Christine glared at the woman, but Firmin and Andre quickly intervened before anything else could be said. "Thank you for that lovely bit of…advice," Firmin coughed, trying to smile but failing miserably.

"I help whenever I can," Carlotta sighed, looking innocent and smiling as Piangi offered her fur wrap to her.

"True, but you forgot a very important detail, senora," a voice interrupted from the back of the auditorium. All eyes turned and several girls in the ballet burst into excited giggles as Raoul emerged. "An opera star needs to be a great singer."

Several people on stage began to snicker behind their hands, while others gasped at the Vicomte's comment. Carlotta glared at the man, all traces of amusement vanishing in that instant. Raoul turned to Christine and gave her a warm smile, to which she returned out of politeness, but it quickly vanished when to her shock, he winked at her. Several more giggles erupted from the ballet who had noticed the gesture in which he had given her, and yet again, there were more whispers.

"All right, all right," Monsieur Gerard, the conductor, called to order. "Come now, we have much work to do. Mademoiselle? Shall we?"

Christine blushed as she realized he wanted to have her sing. She mutely nodded her head, but grimaced as she felt the butterflies rise once more. The last thing she wanted was to get sick right then and there on stage.

"Let us take it from Aminta's entrance in Scene III from Act I. The song titled 'Think of Me'."

Christine froze at the conductor's words. She remembered singing that song for Erik so long ago; she remembered falling in love with that song, and blushing as she felt Erik's eyes upon her when she sang it. Could she do this? She was seriously doubting her decision to come there and sing in this opera.

"Mademoiselle?"

She blushed and quickly apologized to the conductor. He looked at her critically before tapping his baton on his music stand, calling the orchestra to attention and silencing the whole company. All eyes were glazed upon her as the beautiful introduction to the song began.

Christine took a deep breath, keeping her eyes focused on Monsieur Gerard, as the cords floated over her. "Think of me…" she began rather weakly. "Think of me fondly, when we say goodbye…"

The last word came out more as a squeak than anything else. Monsieur Gerard tapped his baton against his music stand rather rapidly, calling the orchestra to stop their playing. Christine felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and all around her she could hear the whispers once more.

Carlotta was positively glowing. "A fine choice, my dear managers," she teased, grinning at Piangi who was also chuckling. "Your Phantom's tastes are quite…extraordinary."

Raoul glared at the woman and then turned his full attention back to Christine. Monsieur Gerard tapped his music stand once more, calling for silence and attention. "My dear," he said, looking directly at Christine, his voice somewhat stern. "You need to project more; I can barely hear you over the orchestra! And if I am struggling, the audience surely will struggle too, do you understand?"

Christine swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded her head. She reached up then and grasped the locket that hung around her neck which contained her mother's picture. The tiny trinket had always given Christine courage; she needed that courage once more to get through this.

The music rose again; Christine closed her eyes and imagined herself back in the Phantom's lair, standing at the piano with Erik softly playing the notes. _Sing for him_ , a voice inside her heart whispered. _Sing for Erik_ …

"Think of me…think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…"

Her voice was stronger, clearer, and more confident. Everyone who had been whispering and scowling earlier had stopped; even Carlotta froze at the sound of young woman's voice.

"Remember me, once in a while–please promise me you'll try…"

Everyone's undivided attention was focused entirely on Christine. She slowly opened her eyes and felt the song overtake her, her voice reaching out to him in the depths of the opera house, singing for him, always for him.

"When you find, that once again you long, to take your heart back and be free–  
if you ever find a moment…" Christine's heart swelled as she thought of the plea she was singing to Erik. "Spare a thought for me…"

The orchestra burst into its interlude and the managers glanced at one another, grinning at the thought of the money they would make from their new discovery. Carlotta was fuming, and Raoul was simply smiling with pride as he gazed up at the stage.

In the depths of the opera house, far below the stage, Erik awoke with a start at the sound of music. He had fallen asleep atop Christine's bed, his maskless face buried against the silken fabric of her gown. He sat up, his eyes wild as he heard the chords to "Think of Me" being played. Grabbing his mask, he leapt off the bed, moving at a quick pace towards the sound. He had grown accustomed to hearing the company rehearse his opera, but something was different this time, something was…new.

And then he heard her. Through the stone, wood, and cement that separated him from the world above, he heard her voice, guiding him home, like a beacon to a lost ship.

"We never said our love was evergreen,  
or as unchanging as the sea–  
but if you can still remember,  
stop and think of me…"

Christine's voice felt somewhat heavy as the reality of the lyrics settled over her. She could feel her legs trembling slightly and her palms growing sweaty–not out of nervousness, but out of anxiety as to whether her song, the song he had written, was being heard. She was not being Aminta in that moment; she was singing as Christine Daae to him.

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen…" her voice began to dissolve then. "Don't think about the things which…" it was barely above a whisper. "Might…have been…"

Christine stopped; she couldn't go on anymore.

Everyone had been in a trance when she had begun to sing. Now, they were slowly waking from it, and the whispers began to erupt again. Firmin and Andre exchanged looks at one another and Raoul frowned in confusion.

Monsieur Gerard called for order with his baton, silencing the orchestra and casting disdainful looks to the chorus and ballet who were busy gossiping. "Mademoiselle, there are still several more bars left, we are not finished."

Christine had been frozen in her place and only just then did she glance up at the conductor. "Mademoiselle? Are…are you alright?" Monsieur Gerard inquired, a look of genuine concern crossing his older features. Christine stared back, and it was then that she realized her cheeks were wet with tears. She looked all around her, feeling everyone's eyes on her once more, and then she caught the eyes of the managers, of Raoul, and Carlotta, who was now looking extremely smug. Without a word, she ran from the stage, causing several chorus members to gasp in surprise by her behavior.

Carlotta continued to grin. "I wonder, do you think she will do that on opening night?"

Christine ran far back stage, pushing past people, not caring how they looked at her or what they thought, she was sick of people looking at her and judging her, attempting to understand who she was and what she had gone through. Let them think what they will, not one of them would understand the pain of a broken heart and a lost love the way she did. She finally found a dark shadowed corner, far enough away from the stage and its many eyes, and there she crumpled to a heap on the ground, her face buried inside her hands, sobbing.

God above, help her, she prayed. It hurt so badly, the pain in her heart, the pain in her spirit. Being here, a place so alive with the Phantom's presence, and yet she felt so cold, so alone, and so empty on that stage. She longed for Erik to reappear, and as he had done at the masquerade ball, to simply whisk her away to his underground world, away from their judging eyes, away from their harsh whispers. And yet, she knew with a heavy heart that she couldn't go back, no matter how much she wanted to. She had her father to look after, and she couldn't abandon him after being separated for so long. But this pain was so severe; she was terrified to fall asleep at night for fear that she would dream of him, only to wake in the morning with the agony that it had simply been a dream. She longed for his strong arms to wrap around her, to carry her away, to hear his voice whisper into her ear that he loved her, that he would let no harm ever come to her. She longed to feel his body beside hers at night, and she longed to look into his dark amber gaze and lose herself in their seductive promise. But more than anything, she wanted to see his face again, unmasked, to touch his disfigured cheek and show him over and over how deeply she loved him, and how handsome she found him to be.

But it was all in vain it seemed.

"Christine?"

She gasped at the sound of her name and quickly wiped her face, not wanting to show her tears to anyone. She turned as she heard the Vicomte's footsteps softly approach. "Christine?" he called again, and then let out a sigh of relief at finding her. "Are you alright? I was worried when I saw–" he paused when he noticed her trembling hands brushing away the last of her tears. "Christine…what's wrong?" he tenderly asked, reaching out and touching her chin with a soft hand.

"I'm fine," she lied, moving away so his hand touched only the air between them.

Raoul noticed her quick gesture to free herself from his touch, but he swallowed his hurt pride and quickly dropped his hand back to his side. "Someone who is 'fine' does not burst into tears and then run away…" he murmured, his eyes trying to capture hers, but she kept them adverted.

"I was nervous, that's all," she explained, keeping her eyes locked on the floor. "I have never sung before an audience before, a-a-and I thought…I t-t-thought perhaps I was doing very poorly, a-and so I lost my confidence. Quite silly I know, but–"

Christine gasped when she felt the Vicomte's fingers gently touch her lips to silence her. She looked up at the handsome nobleman, her eyes locking with his steady emerald gaze.

"You actually think you sang poorly?" Raoul asked, his voice a mixture of shock and wonder. "Christine…I have never…" a warm smile spread across his handsome features. "I have been coming to this place ever since I was child. And in all my years, both then, and now as a patron, I have never heard anything so…so beautiful," he murmured in absolute awe.

Christine felt her cheeks flush at the compliment, and a soft smile spread across her lips. She wondered if Erik had heard her. Would she have made him proud? After all, any compliments she received for her singing should truly be directed for him.

"I know that there were people who were not being entirely…kind," he added gently. "I find that it comes down to two things. One, jealousy," Christine couldn't help but softly chuckle at this. "And two…they simply do not understand," he sighed. "They don't understand why you've been asked to sing this part when many of them have been involved within the company for years. However, I think after this moment, we can all begin to understand why the Phantom favored your voice."

Raoul meant the comment to be one of merriment, but his smile disappeared when he noticed Christine stiffen just slightly at the comment. Suddenly, a loud crashing sound could be heard overhead, and Christine gasped loudly as Raoul pushed them both away, just missing the falling sandbag.

"What the devil?" he shouted angrily, one hand flying to smooth back his blonde hair. A stagehand rushed forward at the sound of Raoul's voice, and before the man could ask what had happened, the Vicomte had the man by the throat. "You idiot! You nearly had us killed!" he growled, shaking the man viciously.

"Raoul, put him down!" Christine protested, pushing at the Vicomte with all her strength. "It was an accident! Please! You're hurting him!"

Raoul glanced at Christine, seeing her terror at his behavior reflected in her blue eyes, and immediately released the man, who crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping. "I…I'm sorry…" Raoul quickly apologized, although he was keeping his eyes on Christine and not the man he had nearly strangled. "But that sandbag could have struck Mademoiselle Daae! All of you need to be more careful!"

The stagehand weakly nodded his head, and then scrambled to his feet and dashed away before the Vicomte could do anything worse. Raoul watched the man go before turning back to face Christine, grimacing when he saw the expression on her face. "I'm sorry you had to see that mademoiselle, but…well, many of these men are drunken louts who do not pay enough attention to their jobs at hand. If I didn't put the fear of God into him, someone has to; seems to be the only way to communicate with them," he muttered, smoothing his hair back once more.

Christine said nothing; she simply kept her distance from the Vicomte. "I should apologize to Monsieur Gerard for my behavior," she said simply, wrapping her arms around herself and heading back towards the stage.

Raoul silently cursed himself and then glanced down at the sandbag, kicking it rather violently, before lifting his eyes heavenward to see where it may have come from. Had he been looking close enough, he would have seen a pair of eyes glaring back at him, but the eyes were well hidden in the shadows. Those eyes continued to watch the Vicomte as he turned and departed the same way Christine had gone, all the while sending looks of utter hatred for the handsome nobleman.

Nothing could begin to describe Erik's rage at seeing the Vicomte de Chagny stand so close, and talk so intimately, to his Christine. He had followed her voice from the very depths of his world, hearing it grow more and more clear the closer he got to the stage. And once he had reached his hiding place on the catwalk, the very place he and Christine had watched Handel's _Messiah_ all those months ago, his heart seemed to stop at the very sight of her.

She stood there, on his stage, singing his music. It was a vision unlike anything he had ever known. He remembered how once upon a time, this was all he dreamed about, hearing her voice sing his music on stage. But it meant so much more now; the first feelings he felt were sheer joy at seeing his beloved Christine there, and then his thoughts immediately changed to confusion. What was she doing there? He had assumed since…since…

He did not like to think about that night, but it forever haunted him.

After all those horrible things he had said, he had assumed she would want to stay as far away from this place as possible. Ah, but his Christine was extremely stubborn, a thought that he couldn't help smiling to. Joy once more erupted; perhaps she had returned? Perhaps she had come to tell him that she still loved him, that she would not leave him no matter what he said, that he would have to make her leave–and he knew that would not be possible.

But then something happened. He noticed the tears before anyone else. He heard the trembling in her voice before the conductor took notice. Her voice disappeared into a sob, and then the next thing he knew, she was flying from the stage, disappearing deep into the shadows beyond the curtains.

Erik flew from his place, flew to a spot where she may have gone. He longed to take her up in his arms, to hold her tightly, to tell her over and over how sorry he was for hurting her, to beg her forgiveness, even though he did not deserve it. To comfort her, to tell her how deeply he loved her…

And then he saw _him_ with her.

The handsome, charming, Vicomte de Chagny, coming once more to a damsel's rescue, armed with manners and a handkerchief. Erik struggled with hearing all of the words that past between the two of them, but he did not miss the smile Christine flashed when the Vicomte spoke to her, and he felt his blood boil with fury as he watched the Vicomte reach out and touch his beloved angel…and the fury only kindled when he saw that Christine did not pull away from him as she had done so earlier. His anger burst forth into a wild blaze, and before he knew what he was doing, he took out the dagger that he always concealed in his boot, and with a single swipe, cut the nearest sandbag.

He had no intentions of harming Christine, it was truly meant to strike the Vicomte. But he cursed her for warning his handsome adversary with her gasp, and he cursed himself when he realized, after the Vicomte pushed both himself and Christine away from the falling sandbag, how close he had been to actually striking her as well.

It was not possible to begin describing his hatred for the blonde nobleman, but he knew that if any harm ever befell on Christine because of his anger, he would never forgive himself. He was already damning himself for the pain he had caused her to make her leave…if he truly hurt her or…or worse, that would be the end of everything.

Erik's heart swelled with pain as he heard his angel begin to sing once more. He could understand why she had cried when he listened to the words closely.

"Think of me, think of me waking,  
silent and resigned.  
Imagine me, trying too hard  
to put you from my mind.

Recall those days, look back on all those times,  
think of the things we'll never do–  
there will never be a day when I won't think of you!"

Indeed. There would never be a day when he would not be consumed by thoughts of her.

 

* * *

 

Suzette grumbled as she attempted to walk while holding an overly large pile of dirty clothes in her arms. They all badly needed mending and washing, and it always amazed her at how much work the five of them generated for her to do. She longed for Christine's help, at least to hear the young woman's sweet voice to help pass the time and the chores.

Suzette dumped the large pile of clothes down on the floor beside her little bed, reaching for the round steel tub that she used to wash clothes, not realizing that she was not alone in the chamber she and the others occupied.

"W-w-w-where is it?"

Suzette gasped and turned to see where the voice had come from. "Rudolph?" she whispered, and then let out a joyful cry as she saw the hunchback emerge from the shadows. "Oh Rudolph! I've been so worried! I haven't seen you for days! I mean, I knew you were present, I kept finding leftovers being eaten, and your books had been strewn about, but where have you been sleeping all this time? And where is that kitten that is always by your side, why–"

"WHERE IS IT?" he practically roared, a sound Suzette had never heard come from him.

She stared up at the hunchback who she had regarded for so many years as a son, and for the first time in her life, actually felt afraid of him. "W-w-where is what?" she asked, her voice trembling with confusion and apprehension.

Rudolph lifted the book that he held in one of his giant hands. "I c-c-can't find it," he explained. "I c-c-can't find the p-part w-where the gypsy girl a-agrees to stay w-w-with the hunchback, w-w-where she tells him that she loves him, a-a-and they live h-happily ever after."

Suzette felt her insides grow cold as Rudolph's words slowly washed over her. In his hand he held _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_. Gustave had indeed been a fine reading teacher. With a heavy heart, she sighed, and sat down on the edge of her bed, suddenly feeling very old.

"Rudolph…t-there's something I need to tell you," she whispered, not sure she could look into his eyes.

"J-j-just t-tell me w-what page it's on…a-a-and I'll r-read it f-for myself."

"No, Rudolph, you don't understand…it's not…it doesn't have a page," she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, which were a mixture of confusion and despair.

"W-w-what do you mean?" he softly asked, his whole body trembling with fear at what she would say next.

"Rudolph," she gently began. "The reason you can't find that passage…is because I…" she took a deep breath, summoning all her strength. "…is because I made it up."

He stared at her, unable to move. "M-m-made it up?"

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes already misting. "I…I wanted to give you a story that would give you hope…a story that showed a kind, gentle, and loving side of humanity. I…I didn't mean to cause any harm, I just wanted to make you happy Rudolph, please know that?" her tears were welling over as she gazed back at him; her heart breaking as the realization slowly dawned on him.

"The g-g-gypsy girl n-never loved the h-hunchback?"

Suzette bit her lip. "She cared for him, she became his friend…b-b-but…no, they did not f-fall in love as I told you…"

Rudolph stared at her, his voice barely above a whisper. "T-t-they d-d-did not live h-happily e-ever after?"

She looked down, unable to bear it another second. "No."

The sound of the book falling to the ground was louder than any capsized boulder. Suzette winced with pain as she heard the book echo off the walls, and her pain only increased as she heard Rudolph's heart-wrenching cries fill the cavern and the tunnels beyond, as he ran from the lies that she had harmlessly spun.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine grows uneasy as she realizes her father's intentions when it comes to her and the Vicomte. And Raoul gets a rude awakening when he realizes what the Phantom's intentions are, towards him!

_**Intentions** _

"So…aren't you going to say anything?"

Christine, who had been poking the food around on her dinner plate with her fork, looked up at her father, confusion in her eyes. "Say anything?" she repeated his words back at him.

Daae groaned and rolled his eyes. "About the rehearsal! I've been waiting to hear you tell me how things went…and I thought since you did not wish to talk when you arrived home, that it meant you were simply tired and it would wait for dinner…but…" he looked at the food on her plate which she had barely touched. A wave of concern washing over him and he reached out to grasp her hand. "Christine, what's troubling you?"

Startled by his question, Christine simply pulled her hand away. "Nothing is wrong…I…I'm just not very hungry to be honest," she mumbled, her eyes adverting his.

Daae watched her intently. "Are you not feeling well?"

Christine's face scrunched up at the thought. "I confess, I have been feeling rather queasy, but I'm fine Papa, truly," she reached out to take his finished plate, but before she could even touch the dish, a bubbly redheaded servant girl burst forth, snatching the plates up herself.

"I'll take care of those mademoiselle!" she chirped, smiling as she took both Christine's plate and that of her father's. "Would mademoiselle care for something else perhaps?"

Christine gave the girl a weak smile. "Thank you, Marguerite, but that won't be necessary." Christine confessed she was not used to having servants wait upon her and was not exactly sure how to behave around them. Even when she was living in the Phantom's realm, she never thought of Suzette and the others as servants, but rather, friends. This was going to take some getting used to, not simply having a servant girl do all the cooking and cleaning, chores Christine herself was used to doing, but living in such an extravagant place as this!

She remembered the day she and her father arrived to the Vicomte's guest flat, and how speechless they both were at the sheer size of the place. It was ten times larger than the tiny flat they had occupied all those months ago, with more rooms than she and her father would know what to do with.

Raoul was extremely proud, he gave them what he called "the grand tour", showing them the different rooms; two lavish bedrooms, each larger than the chamber Erik had given her, and each possessing their own luxurious private bathrooms. There was a grand parlor for entertaining guests, a library, a small billiard room, and much to Christine's surprise, a music room, complete with a beautiful pianoforte.

It was too much; there was no possible way she and her father would be able to repay the Vicomte for this sort of hospitality. Yet Raoul insisted, reminding her that he was already paying the rent for such a place, and felt much better knowing it was being used than collecting dust. He also introduced them at that time to Marguerite, the servant girl who would be staying and tending to their every need. Daae shook the Vicomte's hand heartily, thanking him over and over for his kindness and generosity. Christine however could not share in her father's joy. What Raoul was doing for them was extremely kind, but she could not help but feel his charity, even when it seemed quite genuine in its offer, had a price of some kind.

"So?" her father interrupted her thoughts. "Tell me about the rehearsal! I wish to hear how my daughter dazzled all those 'veterans of the theatre' with her voice," he grinned, thanking Marguerite as she poured him a small glass of brandy.

"There is not much to tell," Christine murmured, still adverting her eyes from her father's gaze.

"Not much to tell?" he exclaimed. "Utter nonsense. I know you astounded them all with your voice, my dear."

Christine sighed heavily. "Papa, please don't, I do not deserve so much flattery, especially…" her voice trailed off as memories of the day returned once more.

Her father's brows rose at her words. "Especially? What do you mean 'especially' Christine?" he reached out once more and took her hands into his. "Please…something is troubling you, I can see it…please tell me?"

She finally looked up into his eyes and smiled faintly back at him, squeezing his hands in return. "My first 'performance' was not exactly my finest moment," she sighed. "Oh Papa…I don't know what I was thinking, I do not belong there, it's quite obvious…" Daae eyes narrowed with concern and confusion and he gently rubbed his thumbs across her fingers, encouraging her to continue. "When I sang today, I…I was a complete mess. My nerves were in shambles, my pitch was off, and many of the lyrics I forgot–"

"But my dear, it was your first rehearsal. You…you make it sound as if you have been rehearsing for weeks, months even."

Christine paled slightly at her father's words. "I…that is, I um…I simply wanted to fit in with the others," she lied. "Many of them have their lyrics memorized…" Christine was a horrible liar, and she winced at how badly that had come out. However, her father simply shook his head, a tender smile creasing his whiskered face.

"Oh my dear, you must move at your own pace, and do what feels right, not what others are expecting." If only her father knew the whole truth, she thought; ah, but he would never believe her, or at least not easily.

"Do not be discouraged by your first rehearsal my dear," her father smiled, giving her hands one last reassuring squeeze before releasing them. "It's quite natural to feel nervous in front of others, hence your stomach feeling uneasy," he grinned. "But I'm sure, despite your doubts, that you did astound them today. After all, the Vicomte believes so, therefore–"

Christine's eyes went wide at her father's words. "W-w-what? How…w-what do you mean the Vicomte believes so? Did you…did the Vicomte de Chagny speak with you?"

Daae nodded very proudly. "He did stop by around tea time. He wished to know how things were going here, if Marguerite was enough help for both of us, and if there was anything he could do further."

Christine grimaced at this piece of news. "I hope that you told him we have far more than we could possibly need?"

Daae frowned slightly at his daughter's tone, but chose not to dwell on it. "I thanked him, of course, and did explain that you and I were doing quite well. I invited him to stay for tea, and during which he then proceeded to tell me all about how you dazzled the company with your singing."

Christine inwardly groaned. "Oh Papa, he only heard me sing one song, one which I did struggle through," she admitted, a slight shiver running down her body as she recalled how difficult "Think of Me" had been. "I would hardly call that a fair review of my singing."

"Why are you so quick to harshly judge the Vicomte de Chagny?" Daae asked, a deep frown settling across his face. "The man has shown us nothing but generosity and kindness, and yet you seem so determined to prove him to be a villain?"

"It's not that," Christine groaned. "I…I am very grateful for all that the Vicomte de Chagny has done for us, but…" she sighed. "I just…I can not help but feel that perhaps he is…expecting something, in return for his kindness."

Daae couldn't help but chuckle at this. "Oh my dear, I blame your mother's family for creating such a wariness of the upper classes in you."

Christine lifted her chin, not pleased that her concerns were being laughed at. "I'm surprised you've forgotten how horrid they were to us, taking away our home, refusing to acknowledge my very existence, their own granddaughter and niece."

Daae shook his head and reached for her hand once more. "I have not forgotten their cruelty, but your mother, a daughter of a Marquis, a woman who grew up amongst the wealthy and powerful, was a person with a kind heart and a generous soul. Now why can not the Vicomte be the same sort of person?"

Christine did not care for where this conversation was heading. "The difference Papa, is that Mama was willing to set aside all those things to be with you, to start a new life with the man she loved. I…I confess, I can not see the Vicomte doing such a thing…"

"Nonsense. The sad truth of the matter is that your mother had no choice. If she followed her heart, she would have to give up those things, as I could not enter her world," he murmured, somewhat sadly. There would always be a part of him that would never forgive himself for taking his beautiful wife away from a world of luxury. "But this is different," he continued, lifting his chin and forcing a smile. "The Vicomte does not have to make such a choice, you can enter his world and no one will think anything of it!"

"Papa!" Christine gasped, shocked by what her father was saying.

"Oh Christine, I only want what is best for you; a man who can give you everything you desire–"

She pulled her hand away and stood up quickly. "I will choose what is best for me!"

Daae stared up at her, rather shocked by her cold behavior. "But he is a good man Christine, can you not see that? He is a good man who I know would provide for you, protect you, and cherish you the way you should be cherished! And I can tell that he lov–"

"ENOUGH!" Christine shouted, her blood boiling with rage. She would not be made to feel like an auctioned item for the highest bidder. "I think I shall go to bed now," she muttered, turning on her heel to disappear into her room, yet before she managed to take a single step, Marguerite appeared, a broad smile beaming from her pretty face.

"The Vicomte de Chagny," she announced, giving a small curtsy.

 _This cannot be happening_ , Christine thought gloomily. Daae straightened up at the servant girl's announcement and grinned broadly as the handsome nobleman entered the dining room, quickly removing his hat and elegantly bowing before them, a warm smile spreading across his handsome features. "Monsieur Daae, Mademoiselle," he greeted, his tone sharing the same warmth as his smile. "Forgive me for interrupting your meal, but I could not wait until tomorrow to deliver the news, I had to see you at once."

"Oh not at all, monsieur," Daae replied, his own face beaming with delight at the sight of the man. "Please, won't you sit down? It would be a great pleasure to have you join us." Christine wanted to protest, but instead, forced a smile out of politeness' sake. She slowly seated herself back down in her chair, while Raoul happily sat in a chair on her left.

"Thank you, monsieur, you are very kind, but I'm afraid I must decline. Sadly, I have a dinner engagement that I can not put off, however I do look forward to perhaps having both you, and your charming daughter," he added, grinning at Christine, his emerald eyes sparkling, "as guests at my town house, before the week's end?" he asked, his eyes looking most hopeful as they focused entirely on Christine.

Christine felt a rush of color flood her cheeks, more out of embarrassment if anything. She prayed that her father was wrong; she did not exactly like the idea of the Vicomte de Chagny being in love with her. Even love itself seemed to come with a price, where the Vicomte was concerned.

"Oh!" Daae grinned, his eyes also focusing on Christine. "We would be most happy to accept!"

Christine could feel her father's gaze upon her, knowing he wanted her to reply to the Vicomte's kind offer. However she chose to remain looking meek, in hopes that perhaps the Vicomte would stop staring at her as if she were a bug in a jar.

Daae could not help but show a little displeasure at his daughter's lack of response, but quickly reassured, "yes, we are very happy to accept such a kind, generous offer." Christine winced at her father's words, knowing they were an attempt to make her feel ashamed for her silence and lack of trust towards the Vicomte.

Raoul however didn't seem to take notice, he simply continued smiling and once more directed his attention at the old man. "I hope that you both are settling in well? I know that I asked this question of you earlier, but please, do let me know if there is anything I can do to help you both…anything at all, I truly wish for your stay here to be comfortable and see that you receive the best service."

Daae smiled but shook his head. "Does your compassion know no ends? You are too kind, monsieur, and I can't begin to thank you for everything that you have done already…but forgive me, you did say something about news? That you had news you wished to share?"

Christine turned her head back towards Raoul, curious to see what news he did indeed have that needed to be shared with them immediately.

Raoul's grin broadened at Daae's words. "Well, after I visited you, monsieur, I felt an urgent need to return once more to the opera house, and so I did…and I called for a meeting with both the managers to discuss the sad order of events that took place prior to your…disappearance," he murmured gently.

Daae's face fell somewhat at these words. He had learned through both Christine and Madame Giry during his recovery that Andre and Firmin had him fired, believing his disappearance to be deliberate. Yet now, as the Vicomte spoke, a hopeful spark slowly began to come to life within him.

"Well," he continued, his smile not being able to conceal itself. "After carefully explaining the full details behind your…disappearance…"

Christine's eyes went wide at this. Was Raoul telling everyone about what happened to her and her father?

"…they both realized that your absence was truly out of your control, and therefore, have agreed to hire you once more, to play lead violin, in the orchestra," he beamed.

Both Christine and her father stared wild-eyed at the Vicomte the second the words left his mouth. Neither one of them spoke, the shock was too great. Yet Christine's father, while at a complete loss for words, began sobbing his joy, gripping Raoul's hand tightly and blubbering praises and words of thanks. "Oh monsieur…thank you…thank you! I…I don't know what to say…just…thank you!"

Christine simply stared, her mind reeling at the news, her body rigid from the shock.

Did the Vicomte de Chagny just tell them that he had convinced the managers of the Paris Opera House to rehire her father? Did the Vicomte de Chagny give them this beautiful luxurious flat? Did the Vicomte de Chagny pay a large sum of money for her father's release from prison? Did the Vicomte de Chagny's charity know no bounds?

These were all wonderful things! So why couldn't Christine share in her father's happiness?

"Christine?"

She shook her head, waking herself from the questions that were plaguing her thoughts and turned to her father, who had been calling out her name. "Yes Papa?" He looked so happy; there were tears of joy streaming down his cheeks, and his smile was so radiant, so full of life. She should be grateful that the Vicomte de Chagny could bring such happiness to her father…

And yet she could not shake off the feeling that there was something dark and untrustworthy about the handsome nobleman.

"I was simply saying how wonderful the Vicomte–"

"Please, monsieur," Raoul smiled, attempting to look modest. "I believe formalities are no longer needed; call me Raoul."

Daae beamed even more at this. Christine couldn't help but frown.

"Raoul has given so much to us…I do not know where we can even begin to repay him!" the old man smiled, reaching out and taking Christine's hand in his.

"Yes," she whispered, although there was genuine worry in her tone. How could they begin to repay the Vicomte for his…charity? And what sort of payment was he expecting?

Raoul smiled at Daae, but his eyes were fixed on Christine's pretty face. "Your thanks alone, is enough for me," he replied, his tone rich and warm, like a blanket on a cold winter night.

Christine smiled faintly at his words, but her discomfort over the matter would not fade away.

Daae smiled, squeezing Christine's hand tenderly in his. "You are indeed a good man, monsieur," he murmured warmly, as his left hand, which held Christine's, slowly began to pull hers to his right, which held Raoul's.

Christine's frown deepened as she realized what her father was doing, and quickly wriggled her hand free and stood up.

Her actions were so swift that the chair, in which she had been sitting, nearly toppled over. Both men looked at her in surprise, and Raoul, out of gentlemanly politeness, quickly rose to his feet, but a distinct look of confusion had clouded his handsome features.

"I…I beg your pardon…" she whispered, her eyes swiftly glancing back and forth between the two of them. "I do not feel particularly well…I think getting some sleep would be best, if you'll excuse me," she added, giving a quick curtsy before turning on her heel and swiftly walking to her bedroom. She did not wish to wait for either of them to reply.

Raoul watched Christine quickly slip away, his eyes narrowing slightly at her actions. Daae groaned before hanging his head in embarrassment. "I apologize for my daughter's behavior," he sighed. "Please do not think ill of her, she is simply…exhausted, I mean, today was very stressful for her, from what I understand–"

"It's alright, monsieur," Raoul quickly interceded. "She has been through a great ordeal, that we must keep in mind."

Daae nodded his head, his eyes looking down at the table and his hands gripping the edges until his knuckles turned white. "Damn Phantom…damn beast!"

Raoul could not help but smile at the old man's words. "Indeed…but do not worry, monsieur…everything will end as it should."

Christine was leaning against the inside of her bedroom door, a shiver running down her spine as she heard the hate in her father's voice and the slightly sinister words from the Vicomte's throat. She wrapped her arms around herself, yearning for Erik's embrace, wondering if she would ever feel his arms again. She let out a sigh of relief as she heard Raoul rise from the table and make his farewells. However the slight joy she was feeling at Raoul's leaving quickly vanished as she imagined her father, pounding on the door, demanding an explanation for her behavior. Oh what did it matter? Somehow the Vicomte de Chagny had won her father's love and respect; nothing she said would convince him that the man could not be trusted. She sighed again, only this time out of frustration, and sat down at the bedroom's dressing table, awaiting the inevitable knocking.

It had only been a glance, extremely brief. Her eyes floated upward to look at her reflection in the mirror, as one does when before one, not looking for anything, not really looking at herself, simply a reflex really. But in that brief moment, in that glance, she saw the flash of a black cloak and a white mask out of the corner of her eye, just outside her window.

Her eyes went wide at the sight, and instead of freezing in place, she whirled around, his name leaving her lips before she even realized what she was doing. "Erik?" She rose to her feet and dashed across the room, lifting the window and gripping the sill, looking out at the snow covered city streets of Paris, her eyes darting wildly, looking to both her left and right, trying to see where he had gone…

Nothing.

She saw and found nothing.

There were no footprints on the tiny ledge that ran long her window; there was no sign of a black cape or anything that was a part of her beloved Erik. Absolutely nothing.

She had imagined it.

This realization hurt her more than any of the memories she had been having of the night she left Erik. For while those memories were indeed painful, here she had actually, for the briefest moment, believed he had been there, watching her, that he had found her and that perhaps, he truly did love her…

But it wasn't real, it was simply her imagination playing tricks on her, telling her what she wanted to see, what she wanted to believe…but none of it was real.

Christine collapsed atop her bed, silent tears stinging her eyes. She was so tired; tired of mourning, tired of hoping, and tired of arguing with those around her. She curled herself into a tiny ball and pulled the blankets up over her head in hopes to create a personal sanctuary, a place where prying eyes, unkind whispers, and unwanted suitors could not find her.

She cried herself to sleep; yet not once did she whimper or let out a sob. In truth, she was too exhausted. She had returned to a world of sunlight, fresh air, and people. She and her father were together again, and her dreams of singing on stage were finally coming true…

So why did she feel more alone now than ever before?

 

Erik cursed himself for being clumsy and allowing her to see him. Had it not been for the gargoyle that adorned the ledge above hers, he would not have been able to hoist himself up and away before she threw open the window.

Now was not the time for reunions, although he longed to hold her again desperately. It pained him to watch her look about for him, trying to find where he had gone, but he held himself back from swinging through her window and taking her then and there. If he so much as touched her, he would not be able to let her go, and although he dearly wanted to, he knew it would not be fair to the old man who he had deeply wronged.

But after seeing her that day, singing his music on stage, he had to see her again; he could not wait until she returned the next day. He truly had believed that he would never see her face, that he would never hear her voice, except in his dreams. But when he realized that he was not dreaming, that she had indeed returned to the opera house…he truly learned then that he was completely addicted, that there was no cure for the ache he felt in his heart for her.

But there were a few unanswered questions that he had…many of which that involved Christine's relationship with the Vicomte de Chagny.

He was still trembling with anger after seeing the two of them talk so "intimately" in the shadows. And his suspicions continued to grow as he learned through the various gossip of the chorus that she was staying at the Vicomte de Chagny's fashionable guest apartment. And it took every ounce of willpower to not kill a chorus wench that began spreading rumors that Christine was sleeping with the Vicomte in order to sing the lead.

A satisfied smile spread across Erik's face as he remembered overturning a trunk filled with spiders and dead rats atop the vile woman's head.

But despite that moment of vengeful satisfaction, Erik's worst fears seemed to be coming true. Without telling the others, he took the black coach, pulling the collar of his cloak up to hide his face, and from a safe distance, slowly followed Christine home. He recalled how his blood froze when he saw her enter an extremely fashionable building. And he swore he felt his heart stop when he climbed the building and saw the inside of the apartment that both she and her father occupied.

It was true. Christine had accepted the Vicomte's so-called "kindness", and was staying in a place that belonged to the fop. By doing this, she was turning herself into the Vicomte's possession…a thought that caused Erik to crush the piece of stone that his right hand held.

A long, deep, primal growl, escaped his throat as he watched through narrowed slits of fire, the Vicomte de Chagny exit the building. He had been there, he had been with her, he had spoken to her…and perhaps he had even touched her.

Rage, unlike anything Erik had ever experienced, coursed through him, and without a second thought, he swung himself from the gargoyle to another ledge, before easily dropping himself atop the Vicomte's moving carriage.

"What the devil–"

The carriage driver never finished his words; Erik punched him so hard that he lost all consciousness, before throwing the limp driver from his seat.

"What's going on up there?"

Erik growled even deeper as Raoul's voice filled his ears. The sound of Raoul's walking stick tapping furiously against the carriage's ceiling made Erik want to reach in and beat the blonde fop to death with his own cane. But without a word, he picked up the reigns and gave them a good smack, the horses quickly bolting from where they had been standing.

He could not help but grin as he heard the Vicomte fall backward and utter curses at the driver's name.

Killing him now would be too merciful, too simple–no, he had his own plans.

After regaining some composure, Raoul sat and contemplated all that had gone on today. He thought things between him and Christine were changing, that she was beginning to trust him. He grimaced at the memory of how she practically flinched when her father had attempted to join both his hand and hers. What was wrong with the girl? After everything he had done for her, releasing her father, giving her a luxurious place to stay, seeing to it that she was able to sing on stage…good God, even calling himself a jackass for his behavior towards her all those months ago! He favored her above any other woman, could she not see that? What more did she want?

He muttered a curse under his breath and sighed deeply. He would just have to be more patient. After all, some progress was being made; she had at least accepted his offers. He just prayed that he would not have to wait much longer–he was not sure how many more days the Marquis Clamont had left to live.

It occurred to Raoul at that moment that he should be at his townhouse by now, and that the coach was traveling rather…faster than usual. What the devil was going on?

He looked out the carriage window and gasped when he noticed slums instead of townhouses, dirt instead of cobblestone, and paupers instead of aristocrats. "Daniel!" he shouted, anger and confusion fueling through him. "Where the bloody hell have you taken us?"

He waited for his driver to respond, but there was nothing. Raoul groaned and poked his head out from the carriage window, his walking stick ready to beat the driver should he not respond again. "Daniel! Answer me, damn it, why–eeehgh!"

Raoul did not even have the opportunity to gasp as he suddenly felt something scratchy and extremely tight wrap around his throat. His fingers flew to the rope that had mysteriously found its way around his neck, trying to tug at it and free himself, but the rope only grew tighter, causing Raoul to gag for air.

"I do apologize, monsieur," came a dark, menacing voice, from behind a black hood. "But Daniel needed to relieve himself…so I happily took over."

Raoul could barely see anything; he was too busy trying to pull at the rope. Yet the voice sent chills down his spine; cold, sinister chills, that eerily seemed familiar…

"Now, to answer your question…" the voice continued, taking the end of the rope and pulling it tighter, causing the Vicomte to thrash and flail like a fish out of water. "You did ask me to take you home…and so that is what I have done. Now, you may not think this is your home, but that is where you are wrong, good monsieur," the voice explained, its tone dripping with sarcasm and malice. "You see, you truly do belong here…in the mud, in the slime, in the very cesspool of human filth, for that is what you are, monsieur…absolute filth," the voice spat.

Raoul gurgled something, the veins around his face looking ready to pop through his skin from the strain that the rope was causing.

"What was that?" the voice asked. "I'm sorry, it's very difficult to understand you, however I do consider myself quite good at reading one's thoughts. Let me see…no doubt you are cursing me, after all, I am trying to kill you," the voice sighed casually, tugging on the rope just a little more, causing Raoul to gurgle even louder. "Or perhaps you were arguing with me, disagreeing with what I said about calling you filth." Raoul attempted to lift his eyes to the hood where the dark voice was coming, his hands flailing upward, hoping, just hoping, he could manage to throw the hood back…

"But I don't think it was either of those things," the voice murmured, dark and low, almost near his ear. "I think you were begging…begging for me to spare your miserable existence," it hissed. "But I already warned you, monsieur…several times as a matter of fact. I warned you stay away from the Paris Opera House, and I warned you to never touch–"

Raoul swung his arms upward and gripped the edge of the hood, as well as something else, and pulled with all his might. The voice immediately stopped talking, in fact, it released the rope that had been around the Vicomte's neck, and Raoul crumpled to the ground, gasping and taking in great gulps of air.

A great indistinguishable curse tore through the night air, followed by the sound of horses and men shouting his name. The figure who had been speaking to him had disappeared, and before Raoul could pull himself up onto his feet, he was being surrounded by several police officers.

"Monsieur! Monsieur, are you alright?"

"We fired at the villain, monsieur, but he got away."

"Found your carriage driver out cold on the street. When he came to, he told us you had been kidnapped!"

"Someone get me a knife! We need to cut this thing off him."

Raoul could barely understand what was happening, but groaned with relief as he felt the rope being cut away from his neck.

"Best get you to a doctor, monsieur," one officer muttered, eyeing the rope that had been strung about the Vicomte's neck. "Those welts are extremely nasty looking."

Raoul pushed the men away as he slowly drew himself up, gripping the carriage door for support. "Daniel!" he barked, his eyes somewhat glazed over by the shock of the whole evening.

The carriage driver timidly came forward, a massive bruise covering half his face. "Yes, monsieur?"

"Take me home," Raoul grumbled, pulling himself inside the carriage.

"But monsieur–"

"I SAID, TAKE ME HOME!" Raoul bellowed, fire burning in his emerald gaze. The driver didn't need to be told twice, he quickly climbed to his place, took the reigns, and was already urging the horses at a quick trot in the direction of the Vicomte's townhouse.

"But monsieur! The villain! Did you get a look at him? Monsieur! MONSIEUR!" the officers' cries disappeared as the carriage drove further and further away.

Raoul groaned and continued to take in deep gulps of air, never before relishing the gift of breathing as much as this moment. He looked down at his hands, amazed to find the cloak that he had pulled off the man still clasped tightly within them. But there was something else…something heavier within the cloak. He recalled how when he had pulled at the man's hood, he had also felt something else. He grabbed at whatever he could, tugging, pulling, simply hoping to distract the villain long enough to release him. He pulled back the folds of the cloak to see what exactly he had managed to steal from the murderous bastard.

His eyes went wide at the sight. The question as to who had attempted to strangle him was now answered…

In his very hands, Raoul held the Phantom's mask.

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his run-in with the Vicomte, Erik chooses to take matters involving his opera...and with Christine, back into his own hands. The stage is being set...for war.

_**Return** _

A roar of anger filled the caverns far beneath the Paris Opera House, floating up to the auditorium itself, insuring the legends of the Opera Ghost, should anyone be present.

Erik stormed into his realm, his sanctuary, anger and rage coursing through his veins, every curse imaginable escaping his disfigured lips. None of the others would dare try to talk to him now, they knew better than to approach him when he was in such a fury. And Erik's rage only deepened every time he felt the cold winter air touch his mutilated flesh.

He had him; he had the Vicomte right where he wanted him to be, squirming and gagging and begging for his miserable life to be spared. Erik entered his dilapidated chamber, walking over the rubble and parchment that littered his floor, grabbing a wine bottle and began gulping great swigs of the dark liquid.

He had been careless.

Erik wasn't sure what angered him more; the fact that he had his chance to kill the Vicomte de Chagny, but let his personal arrogance get in the way of finishing the job…or that the Vicomte de Chagny had outsmarted him.

He took another long swig from the wine bottle and growled low and deep as his fingers gently touched his disfigured cheek.

He had underestimated the Vicomte.

Somewhere in the city of Paris, the Vicomte de Chagny was recovering from his attack, nursing his wounded neck, and most likely smiling with triumph at the prize he had stolen from Erik's own face.

He cursed his own name this time, realizing that his carelessness not only put himself at danger, but also his closest friends. A wry smile curled at Erik's lips as he remembered Christine's words of warning on the night of the masquerade ball. She had warned him then that his hunger for for revenge would get him into trouble, as well as reminding him that his selfish idiotic behavior may in fact harm those that depended upon him for survival.

"It's just my mask," Erik whispered to himself. "It's not enough evidence to condemn us."

_Like hell it wasn't._

Erik groaned as he realized just how lucky he had been in the past. Before, the Vicomte didn't even believe in the Phantom, he simply passed off the notes as some prank. The Vicomte was not so blind anymore, yet even now, the police, while cow-towing to every thing he said, were not prepared to go chasing some bedtime story that was used to frighten ballerinas into the beds of lust-crazed stagehands.

But now, armed with his own mask, the Vicomte may have just enough proof to push the noses of several police officers into places they should never poke about.

True, he had all sorts of elaborate booby traps at every imaginable entrance to his world (and even some not-so-imaginable), but those were designed to stop one man at a time, not an army of them, not a mob.

His blood turned to ice as he imagined a mob storming into his labyrinth, the others desperately trying to escape, him being captured and strung up. The Vicomte would see to his demise, he had no doubt about that–but the others? Erik had promised all of them that he would never let any harm come to them, that they would never know what it feels like to be kept inside a cage again…

The Vicomte, being the sort of greedy villain that he was, would no doubt realize the fortune he could make with such a commodity of freaks. He knew that they would rather die than be put on display again, it was the same feeling he had about the subject.

Erik put the bottle down, remembering Christine's words about how drunkenness never fully absorbed one's pain, and it never solved one's problems. He could not help but smile tenderly at the memory of the fire in her blue eyes when she grabbed the wine bottle out of his hands and threw it against the wall. She was right; now was not the time to feel sorry for himself and mourn over his lost opportunity, his lost mask, and his lost sense of pride.

He looked across the shambled room, spying a single granite bust that remained intact. The bust wore a black mask, one that covered both sides of one's face. It was fitting, Erik thought, as he walked across the room and removed the mask from its holder. The color matched his mood, and the way it hid all portions of his face, save for his mouth, chin, and eyes, matched the new sense of mystery and caution he needed to carry.

As he held the black mask in his hands, he reevaluated his choices and actions over the last week and a half.

Things were going to be different now.

He wasn't going to sit and mourn for his lost love when he had the power to put things right. He wasn't going to wait and worry as to whether the Vicomte would come storming after him, and he certainly wasn't going to allow the Vicomte de Chagny to think he ran this theater any longer.

No. This was his opera, his production, and his theater.

"Let them plot against me and believe they have the upper hand," Erik coldly muttered as he pulled the mask on. "I'll be ready for them."

They wanted a war? They would have one.

"The Phantom is back."

 

* * *

 

"I do hope he is alright," Daae mumbled, gently running his bow along the strings of his violin. "I would hate to think that his simple visit to us last night would have gotten him ill."

Christine could not help but roll her eyes at her father's worries. That morning he didn't speak with her, she could tell that he was annoyed by her behavior last night, and even after they had arrived at the opera house for rehearsal, he refused to speak with her. But now, after a few hours of steady playing and singing, and no sign of the Vicomte de Chagny, her father's vow of silence towards her was being broken.

Yet Christine found that she missed the silence, since all her father could talk about was Raoul's absence. "Perhaps he fell ill last night at his dinner engagement? After all, he did mention he had dinner plans, perhaps the food was undercooked and he was unable to get out of bed."

Christine could not help but cynically smile at her father's words. "Yes, I'm sure something kept him in bed," she muttered.

"What did you say my dear?"

Christine sighed, feeling a tad irritated at her father's concern for the Vicomte de Chagny. "I'm sure he is fine, Papa, he is a busy man after all…perhaps he will come by this afternoon?"

The old man nodded his head in agreement, but there was still worry in his eyes. "Are you feeling well my dear?" he asked.

Christine was rather surprised to find the concern now directed at her. "Yes, I'm fine Papa, why do you ask?"

"Well, you barely had any breakfast this morning, and I surely thought you would be starving since you barely ate your dinner last night," he explained.

Christine gave a weak smile, but the mere mention of food caused her stomach to twist. "I'm fine Papa, truly, I think…I think one of the ballet girls had a severe cold yesterday, and has now past it on to me. But I'm sure I will be feeling better before the day is finished. Please, don't worry about me, I'm fine."

Daae cocked an eyebrow at her words. "Don't worry? I'm your father, I have every right to worry, besides…after months of separation, I have some worry to catch up on," he grumbled matter-of-factly, although his eyes danced with merriment.

Christine couldn't help but smile and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. "That makes two of us," she warned, grinning as he made a face at her words.

"Monsieur! Mademoiselle! If you please, we would like to finish today's rehearsal…today!" Monsieur Gerard muttered with exasperation, tapping his baton with great frustration.

Both Christine and her father blushed with embarrassment and quickly returned to their places. Satisfied that his orchestra was in place, and that the chorus and ballet were ready, Monsieur Gerard lifted his hands for attention, ready to begin Act II of _Don Juan Triumphant_ , when–

"STOP! STOP EVERYTHING!"

Monsieur Gerard let out an exasperated shriek as whirled around to see who dared interrupt the rehearsal. Both managers were running and huffing down the aisle, their faces red and covered with sweat as if they had just finished running a marathon. "Messieurs! What is the meaning of this interruption?" Gerard grumbled, his baton slamming down on his music stand. "I am trying to conduct a rehearsal! And I can't have these–"

"HERE!" Firmin shouted back, dangling a note in the other man's face. "Here is the cause for your interruption!"

The conductor almost shrank back from Firmin's tone, before taking the note with trembling fingers. "W-what is this?" he asked, looking at both Firmin and Andre warily.

Firmin turned to the stage and orchestra pit, everyone's attention completely on him. "I do hope you all are learning your music and stage directions to the point of memorization…" his eyes locked on Christine for a moment, before continuing. "Because, instead of having another month to rehearse and prepare for this…" he struggled with the next words. "This…most _original_ …opera, we now have one week."

A great gasp went up from the stage, and everyone began talking at once, looking at one another with confusion and horror, especially Monsieur Gerard, who seemed to have gone the color of snow. "O-o-o-one w-week?" he stuttered.

"Nonsense!" Piangi's voice shouted over the crowd, all eyes now turning to him. "What utter nonsense! I will not stand for it, I will not be ordered about and told when to sing!" he gave a smile to Carlotta, hoping his show of authority would gain some respect from the diva. Rather, she rolled her eyes and walked away.

"You have no choice, signor," Andre muttered. Everyone now turned to him to see what he had to say. "Seems our illustrious…composer…has also sent a note to the papers."

"WHAT?" Monsieur Gerard shouted, his eyes looking ready to pop from his head.

"See for yourself!" Andre groaned, thrusting the morning's newspaper in the conductor's face.

Everyone gave his or her undivided attention as the conductor began reading. "The Paris Opera House announces a new production to be added to their season. _Don Juan Triumphant_ , a new opera, premieres next Friday evening, on stage for the first time." Another great burst of whispers erupted as Monsieur Gerard read the article out loud, looking as if he would faint any second.

"And that's not all," Andre muttered, his gaze focused entirely on Christine's flushing face. It seemed that everyone was now staring at her, and many of their stares felt like daggers stinging her back. "It appears that our dear composer, who takes full credit for sending word to the papers…failed to mention all other details about the opera, with the exception of Mademoiselle Daae."

A great gasp went up from everyone and Christine thought surely her heart had stopped beating.

"Yes, read it for yourself," Andre muttered, his eyes narrowing as he continued to look at the pretty brunette.

Gerard mopped his brow and continued reading where he had left off. "Christine Daae, a new and rising opera sensation, will sing the lead. She is sure to amaze audiences with her pure, angelic-like tone, and spirited acting."

More whispers, as well as an outraged screech. No one needed to look as to whom that had come from.

Christine's breathing had grown rapid as Gerard finished the article. What game was Erik playing at? She didn't know whether to be excited or saddened at the idea that he may have heard her singing the other day. Had he ordered the opera to be performed sooner so…so he would not have to hear her again? Or did he enjoy making her and the others suffer; did he want to punish her by making her rehearse harder, demanding more and more perfection? Did he enjoy seeing her squirm under the scrutinizing stares of others?

"T-t-there's nothing you c-can do?" Gerard whimpered, his handkerchief growing quite damp as he continued to mop his brow.

"It's in the blasted papers!" Firmin growled. "We can't afford any more scandals! We have to perform next Friday!"

"BUT WE'RE NOT READY!" Gerard helplessly wailed. "The sets aren't even close to being finished, let alone the singing!"

"Don't you think we realize that?" Andre cried, his face turning so red that it looked as if smoke would start coming out of his ears. "You'll just have to work harder!"

A great groan came up from the people on stage, but Andre stomped his foot on the ground. "REHEARSALS WILL NOW LAST FROM 7 TO 8!"

The groan grew even louder, and Piangi began to swear at the managers in Italian, as well as throw curses to the shadows overhead. Carlotta, who had been quite furious a few seconds ago, now appeared to be the calmest person in the entire room; in fact, she looked rather smug. The blonde soprano strutted over to where Christine stood and whispered in the young woman's ear, "Now we'll see if you truly can handle the pressure of being a singer, as well as live up to your…admirer's praise…oh most favored of the Phantom…" she silkily hissed, sarcasm dripping from her lips. Christine glared as Carlotta strutted away, softly chuckling and turning to blow Christine a patronizing kiss.

"Silence! Silence!" Gerard ordered, tapping his baton so violently it seemed as if it would snap. "It does us no good arguing!" he grumbled, mopping at his brow once more. "The papers say next Friday–that gives us nine days. We can do this, if we simply…work hard enough." If only Monsieur Gerard believed his own words, perhaps everyone would not feel so hopeless. "Right, let us take it from Act II, Scene I–mademoiselle?" he inquired, turning to Christine.

She nodded her head and quickly opened her music. She glanced at Carlotta one last time, feeling utter hatred for the woman. She would prove to the so-called diva that she could handle such pressure, that she was destined to be a great singer. The stage quickly cleared as the music from the orchestra rolled up in the introduction to her song. She would prove to them all: Carlotta, the managers, Monsieur Gerard, Erik…everyone.

This was her opera too…

 

* * *

 

"GOOD GOD MAN, I'M TELLING YOU, THIS PROVES THAT HE EXISTS!"

Inspector LeDue winced as the Vicomte's voice rose to a painful height. He had received the news late last night, how the Vicomte de Chagny had been attacked on his way home, how the carriage driver had been knocked out, and the villain had kidnapped the Vicomte in order to commit foul play against the nobleman. Thankfully, the driver came to, and told several officers who were patrolling what had happened. They quickly followed the carriage in the direction it had gone, and before the horrific deed could be committed, they had managed to stop the villain and save the Vicomte's life.

Inspector LeDue was not at all surprised to see the Vicomte at the station early that morning, however the story that the Vicomte arrived with was one that caused the man to groan with frustration and helplessness.

The Phantom of the Opera.

The Vicomte de Chagny was once more raving about the infamous Phantom, and how this so-called ghost was behind the attempted murder from the night before; the only difference however from the previous times he had heard the Vicomte's story was that this time he had brought "evidence".

On the table between the two of them lay a black cloak, and half a mask, the mask that the Vicomte claimed was the Phantom's disguise.

"I'm sorry, monsieur, but this is not enough," LeDue attempted again, knowing it was in vain.

"NOT ENOUGH?" Raoul shouted, pounding his fist down on the table. "Ask any stagehand who has reported seeing the Phantom and they will all tell you the same thing…he wears a mask, a mask just like this one!"

LeDue groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It was not that long ago, monsieur, that you believed the 'Phantom' to be some ghost story, and that the notes belonged to some prankster. Could this not also be a prank?" he sighed, hoping to make the Vicomte see reason. "Now my men will get to the bottom of this, and find the man who attacked you, but to simply believe that it was–"

"DAMN IT MAN, I'M TELLING YOU IT'S THE BLOODY PHANTOM!" Raoul shouted, pushing himself away from the table and pacing to the other side of the room. It was taking every ounce of willpower he contained to not lash out at the imbecile.

LeDue said his next words very carefully, knowing he was playing with fire. "Can you think of anyone who would wish you harm? An enemy in business, or an old acquaintance that's gone sour–"

"I have enemies, LeDue, but none of them would dare come at me like this," Raoul hissed, keeping his back to the cheif inspector. "The Phantom has threatened my life before," he murmured, recalling the incident at the masquerade ball. "He's jealous that I have possession of Christine Daae–he told me that night if I so touched her he would kill me. He must be stalking her, and saw me come out of the building…"

"I have not heard any complaints from Mademoiselle Daae of a stranger following her, or any threats that she's received since her…well…her…"

"Her 'sudden reappearance' into society?" Raoul finished, his words filled with venom.

LeDue groaned once more. "Now see here, monsieur–"

"NO!" Raoul roared, his fist crashing down once more atop the table. "Are you actually going to sit there and tell me, after months of 'missing in action', when not one soul can recall seeing her or knowing of her whereabouts, and then suddenly reappearing, declaring for the release of her father in a rather desperate state, that there is nothing…unusual about that?"

LeDue squirmed under the Vicomte's fiery gaze, his throat going dry at how exactly to respond.

"And let us not forget that the last time she was seen was retreating below stage, on the same night her father was seen going below, the very night he was also arrested for raving, like a madman, about a horrible masked creature, otherwise known as the Phantom of the Opera, for kidnapping his daughter!"

"It's still not enough!" LeDue hissed, before quickly shrinking back from the Vicomte's venomous stare. "I'm sorry, monsieur," he sighed. "While the story fits together, I…I can not begin to fall prey to what is surely impossible!"

Raoul glared at the inspector. "We're not dealing with some…some specter, some ghost! This is a madman! A flesh and blood monster that will stop at nothing to see me dead!"

LeDue groaned and shook his head, total frustration taking over. "And what do you suggest I do?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Raoul muttered, not at all missing the irritation in the man's voice. "How foolish of me to sound concerned, after all, it is only MY LIFE!" he roared, grabbing hold of the chair he had been sitting on and kicking it over with his foot.

LeDue jumped by the sudden action, and a surprised officer poked his head inside the door. "Is everything alright inspector? I heard a noise–"

"Yes, everything's fine…" LeDue grumbled, glaring back at the Vicomte.

"Wait!" Raoul shouted, turning towards the young officer who had opened the door. Both policemen looked surprised. "I recognize your face…"

The younger officer swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and nodded his head. He was a boy really, Raoul noted; couldn't have been more than 18. "I was the one who cut the rope from your throat, monsieur…"

A slow, devious smile, slowly spread across the Vicomte's handsome features. "Really?" the boy nodded his head and Raoul's smile spread even further. "What did you do with the rope?"

The boy looked at LeDue then back at Raoul. "Well…w-we have it, monsieur; we keep all murder weapons, as it may be a clue that could…well, that could lead us to–"

"Wonderful, will you fetch it for me?"

The boy glanced once more at LeDue before nodding his head and disappearing. Raoul could not help but grin broadly, and with a composed air that he had not possessed a few seconds ago, he calmly picked up the chair he had kicked over, and casually sat back down.

LeDue eyed him suspiciously. "Have you taken a sudden interest in studying crime related items?"

Without a word, the Vicomte removed a cigar from his coat pocket, lit it, and calmly began to smoke.

A few seconds later, the boy returned with the rope in hand. LeDue thanked the boy before dismissing him, and with an annoyed sigh, held the rope up for Raoul to see.

The rope was not some common thread; in fact, it was a noose. But an interesting sort of noose, that the Vicomte could tell right away. He leaned in and gazed at the fine threads, his fingers slowly rising to touch the bruised welts that now adorned his neck.

"Interesting…" he murmured.

LeDue looked puzzled. "What is?"

Raoul leaned back in his chair and took a long drag from his cigar before finally focusing on the chief inspector. "The thread," Raoul simply explained. "I simply remembered that when the Phantom…I'm sorry, the mysterious masked fiend who by all means can not possibly be the Phantom because the Phantom is truly some silly figment–"

LeDue rolled his eyes.

"–anyway, I remember that when he had me about the neck, the threads, while extremely tight…were not necessarily rough, meaning made from a rough material."

LeDue narrowed his eyes, his own attention now focusing on the noose he held. "True," he whispered. "These threads seem…strange, not at all like the sort of rope one would find at a dock yard or…or used to string crates together…"

"No," Raoul whispered, reaching out and taking the noose from LeDue's hands. "Indeed…this material, it is rather soft, at least it is when not wrapped around one's neck," he grunted. "In fact…it reminds me of something…"

"Reminds me of the cord to these expensive curtains my wife insisted on purchasing," LeDue grumbled with disgust.

Raoul's eyes went wide at the inspector's words. "Curtains…?" he whispered. "Of course…"

LeDue looked at the Vicomte with confusion. "Monsieur?"

"What sort of curtains are they?" he demanded.

LeDue stared at the man as if he had lost his mind. "What?"

"The curtains, man!" Raoul shouted, pounding his fist again on the table. "Tell me what sort of curtains they are!"

"I don't know!" LeDue defended. "Asian looking if you ask me…Asian, or…or Middle Eastern! I had nothing to do with them, my wife said they're the latest fashion, but a waste of good money if you ask me–"

Raoul rose from his chair, throwing the noose into LeDue's lap. "Your wife is not wrong," he muttered, pulling his gloves on and grabbing his hat. "Middle Eastern décor is at the height of fashion right now."

LeDue stared at Raoul as he turned to leave the room. "Wait just one second!" he called out, rising to quickly catch up with the Vicomte's long strides. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Raoul turned and looked at the chief inspector with a determined gaze, his voice dark and cold. "I'm not entirely sure, but I know it has something to do with the Phantom–and I will prove it to you, no matter what, that he does exist and that it was him last night who attempted to take my life!"

 

* * *

 

The hours at rehearsal had been long and endless.

Fewer breaks were called because there was now less time to prepare for opening night. The managers continued to bustle in and out of the auditorium, followed closely by different reporters. It seemed that every hour, a new reporter would join the growing throng, each asking the same questions, over and over.

What was this new production?

Why hadn't anything been said until this moment?

Who was this new composer?

What was this opera about?

And the one question that Christine had been dreading above all others; who was this girl that was singing the lead?

Every now and then, a few reporters would interrupt the rehearsal, asking if they could speak with Christine, but thankfully, Monsieur Gerard refused, demanding that time was of the essence and could not be stopped for some interview. Christine was rather thankful for Gerard's stubbornness; she had no idea what she would say and feared she would make an absolute fool of herself in front of the reporters.

Yet a break from singing and rehearsing was extremely tempting.

For three hours straight, she had been rehearsing with either Piangi or the chorus. Her voice was beginning to grow horse, and her throat was beginning to feel raw. She remembered Suzette's special tea and longed for a cup to relieve her vocal cords. But in truth, it was not her voice that was bothering her; all day she had been feeling weak and light-headed. The room felt so warm, and now and then she thought she would lose her balance out of a sudden spell of dizziness. She blamed it on the fact that she hadn't eaten anything all day, but every time she thought of food, her stomach seemed to churn with uneasiness. What she really needed was some rest, a chance to lie down and rest her head…

"Mademoiselle! If you please!" Gerard grunted, tapping his baton with irritation.

Christine shook her head and offered a weak apology as she once more took her place. She and Piangi had been rehearsing the infamous scene from Act III, the scene where Don Juan attempts to seduce Aminta into his bed, the scene that possessed the haunting song "Point of No Return".

They had gone over this scene for practically an hour and Christine was not sure how much more she could handle singing this song over and over. Every time she did so, she remembered Erik, the primal fire that burned in his amber eyes as he sang Don Juan's role back to her; the way his long calloused fingers ran over the keys, a promise of what his fingers could do to drive her beyond the point of no return…

Her thoughts were shaken as Piangi's tired tenor filled the stage, the boredom in his voice quite apparent for all to see. Christine took a deep breath and began to sing her role, trying very hard to fight the waves of dizziness, and sing above the weakness that had taken hold of her body and voice.

Several reporters who had been questioning the managers paused to listen to Christine sing, as did everyone else on stage. Carlotta, clearly revolted by the whole scene, began to make some rather loud and crude comments in regards to the young woman, remarking how extraordinary it was that a country strumpet who had no knowledge or experience in musical theater, had suddenly been handed the lead role. A few reporters began scribbling down Carlotta's words, a fact that Christine had not missed.

The room felt extremely warm, and even though she stood perfectly still, everything began to spin. She was tired, she felt sick, and the cruelty of Carlotta's words cut to the very core.

And then the spinning stopped. She felt weightless, as if she were floating in the air…

A great scream erupted from the stage as Christine's body crumpled to the floor.

 

* * *

 

"Christine! Christine!"

She heard her name being called across the darkness. She was having the most peaceful dreamless slumber…and then, her head reeled with pain as the bright lights of the room illuminated her eyes.

"She's waking up!"

Christine's eyes slowly fluttered open and she gazed back at the faces of several young women, all of whom were chatting amongst themselves as they gazed back down at her. She felt a warm familiar hand grip hers, and she turned to see her father sitting beside her, a thankful, yet worried smile, spreading across his wrinkled face. "Oh thank God," he whispered with relief.

Madame Giry pushed the ballet girls who had been crowding around her away. "Give her some air!" she scolded, before kneeling down on Christine's other side. "Are you alright, my dear? You gave us such a scare!"

Christine eyes drifted from the ballet mistress to her father, her expression one of utter confusion. "W-w-what happened?"

"You fainted, my dear," Madame Giry calmly explained. "No doubt caused by some overzealous rehearsing," she murmured, glaring at Gerard, who shrank from the woman's cold stare.

"You silly girl," her father scolded, still looking worried, but also rather upset. "You barely ate anything last night, and this morning you won't even touch your food…no wonder you fainted!"

Madame Giry looked at the old man with curious eyes. She then looked at Christine, a dark brow lifting with question. "You have been feeling ill recently?"

Christine did not care for the way Madame Giry looked at her. In truth, Christine had been having trouble looking into the ballet mistress' eyes ever since she had announced that both she and her father would be moving out of the woman's home…and into the guest apartment of the Vicomte de Chagny.

Needless to say, Madame Giry did not take the news very well.

"I'm fine," Christine lied, attempting to sit up too quickly, her head already spinning once more.

"Clearly you need some rest," Madame Giry announced. "Come, we shall take you to your dressing room."

Christine stared up at the woman, confusion filling her eyes. "D-d-dressing room? I…I don't have a dressing room."

"Actually, you do," Meg grinned, and several other ballet girls began giggling all at once.

Madame Giry cast them all a cold glare, which immediately silenced them, and with the aid of Christine's father, helped the young woman sit up and walk off stage. In a matter of minutes, they were opening the door to her dressing room and helping her inside.

Christine stared wide-eyed at the room, overwhelmed by its beauty; there were vases filled with sweet-scented roses, elegant curtains that hung from the wall, beautiful Italian furniture that adorned every corner, and against a far wall, stood a large mirror, that touched the floor and seemed to stretch to the ceiling.

And then realization hit her. "This is Carlotta's dressing room!" she gasped.

"No," Madame Giry corrected. "This is the star's dressing room, and belongs to the female lead. Carlotta has simply held that title for so long that we all think it's her dressing room. But Carlotta is not the star of this production, my dear, so it is your dressing room…and don't let anyone argue that point."

Christine could not help but smile at the thought, but she groaned as she imagined the hell Carlotta would raise once she found out that Christine had taken the room.

"Get some rest, my dear," Madame Giry instructed. "I will explain everything to the managers–I believe they fainted as well at the thought of losing their new star." Christine chuckled softly as she saw the amusement in Madame Giry's eyes. "Besides, the ballet could use some extra rehearsal time, come monsieur," she motioned for Daae.

Daae helped his daughter sit down on the chaise lounge in the center of the room. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead before rising and smiling down at her. "If you don't eat every last bit of food that Marguerite prepares tonight, I'll start doing all the cooking…and you know that's a fate worse than death," he teased, although Christine could still see the genuine worry that clouded his eyes.

She sighed and pulled her legs up to her body as she was left alone in the dressing room. Her arms wrapped around them and with a tired groan she buried her face against her knees. She realized that this was the first time she had been left alone in the opera house since her return. She looked around at the elegant room and a sad smile slowly spread across her face. Once upon a time, this was all she dreamed about, becoming a great singer who would return to her dressing room after every performance to find dozens of roses left by her admiring fans. She truly believed that with Erik's help, that dream could indeed become a reality…

But now…now what she truly yearned for had nothing to do with fame and glory. Her eyes focused in on a bouquet of dark red roses, and her thoughts immediately drifted to Erik. Had he seen what happened? Did he know that she had fainted? Did he care? Her heart ached to be with him, her arms ached to hold him, to feel him close to her once more. She missed him so much…

"Angel of music…" she softly, painfully sang, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Angel of music, guide and guardian…grant to me your glory…" she sniffed back the tears that began to fall. "Angel of music, hide no longer…" she turned and buried her face once more against her knees, her arms hugging her legs tighter to her body. "Come to me strange angel…"

Her words, her beautiful and sorrowful words, were like a prayer being offered up to heaven, a prayer beckoning her angel, her love, to come to her once more. He heard her words despite their softness, her voice like a beacon to his ears.

He had seen everything. That horrible sickening feeling returned as he watched his beloved crumple to the ground, nothing more than a rag doll. He was frozen as they cried out her name, feeling so helpless and so frightened. With great relief, he began to breathe again as she slowly sat up with the aid of her father and Madame Giry, and he flew to the secret tunnel that ran alongside the dressing room, watching everything take place from the other side of the long mirror.

The mirror was an illusion, a secret passageway that no one, not even Madame Giry, knew about. From within the dressing room, it looked like a simple mirror, when in truth, he could see in and enter the world above, through it.

He held his breath as Christine was left alone in the dressing room, very much aware that the two of them, in a sense, were completely alone. Yet she of course, had no idea that he was there…and while it was tempting to break through the glass and take her in his arms, he stood completely still, the pain in her eyes and in her voice tearing him apart.

He had been a fool to drive her away. He had done it all because he thought it was the selfless thing to do, but God had somehow brought her back to this place, back into his life…and he knew now that he could not live without her, that she belonged to him…and he to her.

As if by some unknown instinct, the song rose up within his throat and the words escaped his lips…

"No more talk of darkness,  
forget these wide-eyed fears.  
I'm here, nothing can harm you–  
My words will warm and calm you…"

It was the song that he had written with Christine, the song that would have been sung by Don Juan and Aminta at the end of his opera, if he had kept the new ending.

"Let me be your freedom,  
let daylight dry your tears.  
I'm here, with you, beside you,  
To guard you and to guide you…"

He sang the words just as softly as she had sung her song. There was no way she could have heard him, but somehow he hoped that she could feel him there, near her, that her pain would lessen, and her fears float away.

He sighed and silently watched her as she turned her face towards the mirror, her eyes closed, as if in some deep thought. Her sadness was still evident, but at least she had stopped crying.

What happened next, however, took him completely by surprise.

"Say you love me,  
every waking moment,  
turn my head with talk of summertime…"

He stared at her through the mirror as her voice filled his ears.

"Say you need me,  
with you now, and always…  
promise me that all you say is true–  
that's all I ask of you…"

_How could she possibly…?_

Erik shook his head, not sure how to go about explaining it, but somehow, and for some reason, Christine was singing Aminta's response, as if…as if she had heard every word he had sung…

"Let me be your shelter,  
let me be your light.  
You're safe:  
No one will find you–  
Your fears are far behind you…"

Christine's voice began to respond to his once more, and this time her face focused in on the mirror where he stood.

"All I want is freedom,  
a world with no more night…  
and you, always beside me,  
to hold me and to hide me…"

Erik watched as she slowly began to rise from the chaise lounge, his own voice responding once more, his eyes locking in on her face as she began to approach the mirror.

"Then say you'll share with me  
one love, one lifetime…  
let me lead you from your solitude…"

She was drawn to the mirror, although she knew not why. All she could see was her own reflection in the glass, but she felt something…something calling for her from just beyond.

"Say you need me  
with you here, beside you…" he continued singing, his gaze running over her beautiful face as she drew closer to the glass.

"Anywhere you go, let me go too–  
Christine…that's all I ask of you…"

Christine's voice rose as she stood before the mirror, unable to see him, but gazing up at his face as if she knew he were there. His voice joined hers, and they sang to each other, the glass the only thing truly separating them…

"Say you'll share with me  
one love, one lifetime…  
say the word and I will follow you…  
Share each day with me,  
Each night, each morning…"

The two of them stopped singing, and Christine slowly lifted a tentative hand to the glass, resting it against its cool surface, her eyes searching. "Say you love me…"

Erik watched her hand lift to the glass, and immediately lifted his own, mirroring her hand exactly. "You know I do…" he answered.

A soft, joyful smile slowly spread across Christine's face, and Erik felt the same joy swelling within himself, ready to burst. He gripped the edges of the mirror, fully prepared to fling it open…

"Love me–" they both sang, "that's all I ask of–"

"CHRISTINE!"

Christine gasped and whirled around, and Erik flew from the mirror, cursing Madame Giry's brat who had entered the dressing room unannounced.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I startle you?" Meg apologized, her eyes moving from the mirror to Christine's rather flushed face.

Christine took a deep breath and quickly shook her head, wondering how she must have looked, singing to a mirror when Meg had burst in. "I'm fine," she lied, trying quickly to compose herself. "Am I being summoned? Do the managers or Monsieur Gerard wish to see me?"

Meg shook her head. "Oh no, Mama spoke with them, you are to be given a full day of rest tomorrow, and your father feels it is best that you go home now…he asked me to come and fetch you."

Christine smiled, but still could not conceal the redness that flamed her cheeks. "Thank you, Meg," she whispered, turning to follow the girl, but taking one last glance at the mirror in the room.

She had felt him. She had felt his presence with her in that room. She could not explain the power that had drawn her to the mirror, or that had compelled her to sing. There was no other explanation other than for a brief moment, she had been under the spell of the Opera Ghost himself.

But as just as suddenly as she had felt his presence, so the feeling disappeared. With a heavy heart, she exited the dressing room, never seeing the amber gaze that had remained locked on her face long after she had shut the door.

 


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Raoul and Christine are given a glimpse of clarity, in regards to the Phantom...although those glimpses are as different as night and day...

_**Clarity** _

Raoul glared at the article before him, his eyes filled with hateful spite. He had only just arrived at the Paris Opera House, his face a harsh color of red, a newspaper in his hands. It came as quite a shock to him when he awoke that morning to see _Don Juan Triumphant_ in the headlines. He stormed into the managers' office and began demanding answers for whose idea it was to say anything to the papers. Now, he was gazing down at the original article that Andre had received the day before, as well as the note that came with it. With a growl, he took his cigar and stabbed the burnt end into the paper. He glanced up at the two managers, both of who were looking rather nervous. "And why was I not informed of this news yesterday?" he inquired.

Firmin and Andre glanced at one another, and then back at the Vicomte, before erupting into a din of excuses.

Raoul groaned and lifted his hand to silence them; he could feel a headache coming on. "This new turn of events does change our plans somewhat," he muttered.

Andre nodded his head in agreement. "We must quickly come up with a plan to capture that fiend! We have only a week until opening night! Surely he will be there then, we simply must find a way to lure him–"

"We have the bait," Raoul muttered, gazing at the article he held in his hands. "We simply need the trap."

Firmin's brow furrowed at the Vicomte's words. "You mean his opera, monsieur?"

Raoul shook his head. "No…I mean Christine Daae."

Both managers stared at the Vicomte with wide eyes and sudden realization. "Of course…she was chosen by the Phantom to play the lead," Firmin whispered.

"And she was the only detail mentioned in the article," Andre added.

Raoul nodded his head. "Yes, Christine Daae is the link in all this. The Phantom is clearly obsessed with her," he growled, his hand lifting to rub his neck. "Not to mention extremely possessive; he is most eager to see his so-called masterpiece performed with her singing the lead…perhaps he rushed the performance date, out of fear that she will flee, or out of fear that we will catch on to him…but whatever the reason, mark my words, he will be present at that performance."

Andre quickly nodded in agreement. "Yes, we simply need a trap as you say!"

"What of the police?" Firmin inquired, looking hopeful.

Raoul grunted, and immediately Firmin's hopes melted. "The police remain skeptical," he muttered with disgust. "While all the evidence obviously points to the truth that the Phantom is indeed a madman living within these walls, they remain unconvinced. They need more…evidence."

Andre threw his hands up into the air. "Good God! What sort of evidence? A dead body?"

Raoul quickly concealed his sinister grin at the younger manager's words. "We shall simply have to keep our eyes open for ideas, but have no fear gentlemen…I am most determined to see his end."

Both managers could not help but tremble at the cold way the Vicomte spoke, however, that dreaded feeling was quickly replaced by another, and a far more dreadful feeling...

"WHAT THE HELL IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Carlotta shrieked, throwing the door to the office open.

"Signora? What is the matter? What–"

"You shut-up!" she hissed, pointing her finger in Andre's face. "AND EXPLAIN WHY THAT LITTLE BITCH HAS MY DRESSING ROOM!"

Firmin and Andre went white at her words. They attempted to speak, but rather than giving her explanations, a series of nervous and indistinguishable sounds came out of their mouths. Raoul groaned as Carlotta began to shriek once more, his head pounding now. "It's quite obvious, signora," he muttered. "Mademoiselle Daae is the star now…therefore it's her dressing room."

Both Firmin and Andre looked ready to dive behind a desk to avoid Carlotta's explosion. Indeed, the Prima Donna looked shocked from the simple, matter-of-fact way that the Vicomte had replied. But the pale shock on her face slowly changed to a deep angry red, and she opened her mouth, a scream rising in her throat, her eyes shooting daggers of fury at the handsome blonde nobleman who stood a few feet away.

Both managers took cover.

"Please don't," Raoul cut in, a weary and annoyed sigh escaping his lips, as he reached out and placed one finger on Carlotta's pouting lips. "I am not having the best of mornings, and I do not think I can tolerate another outburst."

A great gasp escaped from the managers and the diva. "How dare you–"

Raoul cut her off once more. "My dear, please…why are we arguing this point? What possible threat can you throw at me?"

Carlotta was turning a deep shade of red, more from fury than embarrassment. "I'll leave!" she hissed. She turned her eyes on the frightened managers who had gone a shade paler at her words. "I'll leave this wretched piss hole, and go to Vienna!"

"Fine," Raoul sighed, ignoring the blank stare the managers were giving him at his words. "You'd best be on your way, signora, there is probably a train leaving for Vienna within the hour."

Carlotta was at a complete loss of words. She watched with venomous eyes as Raoul once again sat down in his chair, pulling a new cigar from the inside of his coat, and lighting it. "I mean it…" she repeated, although the confidence in her voice was slowly disappearing.

Raoul took one long puff on his cigar before exhaling the smoke in one long steady stream. "Of course you do, my dear," he whispered, his eyes locking with hers.

It was an empty threat; they both knew it. But now Carlotta had a new challenge; either stay and live in the shadows of a new rising star, or leave with her pride, but face the reality of being penniless.

She didn't have control anymore; Raoul was making that abundantly clear.

"Damn you," she hissed at him, her eyes filled with humiliation and hatred. "Damn you to hell!"

Raoul exhaled again and smiled. "After you, signora."

She swore in Italian before turning on her heel and exiting the office, the door banging loudly in her wake. Both Firmin and Andre, who had been watching the whole scene in silence, let out a long sigh filled with both relief and anxiety. "Monsieur, I…I can't believe…I can't believe that you almost–"

"Shut up," Raoul muttered. "If you didn't spoil her in the first place this would never have been a problem!" He rose from his chair and grabbed his belongings. "La Carlotta will no longer be threatening us," he grumbled as he pulled on his coat. "But she is not our concern; we must focus all our attention on how to capture that monster!"

The managers glanced at one another, both shivering slightly at the cold sinister tone of the Vicomte's voice. "Quite right," Firmin agreed, although the confidence in his voice was lacking.

"Yes, absolutely," Andre quickly replied, although he too looked doubtful.

"Excellent," Raoul muttered. "I will speak with you both later, but right now, I need to…look into something." Without another word, Raoul left the office and headed directly to the auditorium, his steps quick and his jaw clenched.

 

* * *

 

Madame Giry and her ballet were warming up on stage, preparing to rehearse a dance scene from Act III. Several chorus members were talking with a few orchestra members, and Raoul spotted the old man who he was looking for.

"Monsieur!" he called out, a charming smile now creasing his handsome features.

Daae turned to the voice and his own features brightened with a warm welcoming smile. "Oh! Monsieur Vicomte! So good to see you today!" he warmly greeted, before doing a quick polite bow.

Raoul grinned and shook his head. "Monsieur Daae, please…I have told you before, call me Raoul."

Daae grinned and nodded his head. "Thank you monsieur–Raoul," he quickly corrected. "I must confess, we were worried when we did not see you yesterday. We feared that perhaps something was amiss."

Raoul's smile momentarily vanished as he remembered how he spent the whole day recovering from his attack and attempting to have the police see reason. "Yes, well…I had some urgent business matters that needed attending. But I am glad to be back," he added, his eyes surveying the rest of the large room, hoping to find a particular brunette. "You said, 'we were worried', monsieur…" Raoul added, his eyes sliding back to the old man.

"Oh! Yes, I meant both myself and my daughter." Inwardly, Daae was frowning. Christine had not shown any concern, or interest for that matter, on the Vicomte's whereabouts the day before. He shook his head, wishing that Christine would not be so doubtful as to the Vicomte's intentions. She was far too suspicious for her own good; perhaps it was those books her mother read to her? Yes, there were some wealthy gentlemen who took advantage of young ladies, especially young ladies below their station, but the Vicomte seemed so different! His feelings seemed quite genuine and sincere, and if he meant harm, why had he gone out of his way to help them? No…the Vicomte de Chagny was a good man, Daae was convinced of this. And he genuinely seemed to hold Christine in high esteem, even in deep affection.

Daae sighed. He was an old man and was not sure how many more years he had left. He wanted to know that Christine would be taken care of, that she would be loved and cherished and have every comfort available. Perhaps with time, she would see that the Vicomte was not this horrible beast she seemed convinced to believe him to be. But who knew how long that would take; best that he help the situation in any way that he could. "Both my daughter and myself were terribly worried for you," he lied again.

Raoul studied the old man carefully. Was he being lied to? No, that was impossible. Christine was simply modest and humble, believing it to be impossible that a man of Raoul's birth, education, and power, could possibly take any interest in a lowly farm girl. She simply needed more convincing; but it was impossible to comprehend that she did not find him attractive. After all…he was, well… _him_.

"I must confess, I had hoped to speak with both you and your daughter today…but I can not see her anywhere," he murmured, glancing once more about the auditorium and then back at the old man.

"Oh, she is not well," Daae explained. "She is home, resting, but will be back at rehearsals tomorrow."

"Not well?" Raoul asked, through slightly clenched teeth. Those stupid idiots who called themselves managers forgot to mention that one detail. "Its not serious I hope…"

"Oh no!" Daae quickly defended. "She is a silly girl, brought it on herself, I think," he muttered. "Barely ate anything yesterday, and after long hours of singing and being on stage, she fainted. Oh she is alright now, let me assure you," Daae added, after noticing the Vicomte's slight alarm. "I think it is simply nerves–she's never sung on stage before, and now with the news of the opera opening in a week…"

"Yes," Raoul added, his teeth grinding once more. "I can understand the stress she is feeling. And I am glad to hear that she does not suffer from any illness other than heightened nerves," he turned his attention back to the old man once more. "It would be most disappointing, as I was hoping that perhaps both Christine and yourself would be my guests tomorrow evening for dinner."

Daae's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh monsieur–Raoul, I…I don't know what to say…what an honor–"

"Please monsieur," Raoul smiled. "The honor is entirely mine." Daae smiled warmly back, but then it quickly disappeared, something to which Raoul took immediate notice. "What is wrong?" he asked, his tone somewhat demanding.

"Oh it is only…sadly," the old man sighed, "while I am most thankful for the invitation, I must sadly decline. You see, I am desperately trying to catch up with the rest of the orchestra with learning this opera–they have had over a month to practice where I have had only a few days. And now that it is being performed in a week–"

"I understand," Raoul muttered, his attempt at hiding his disappointment, failing.

"Oh please, do not take offense," Daae pleaded, seeing the displeasure in the Vicomte's eyes. "And do not feel you need to change your plans. I am simply saying that, sadly, I must decline, but my daughter on the other hand…"

Raoul went tense for a moment. Was the old man that naïve when it came to how things worked in society? No father would ever allow a young single woman to be left alone with another gentleman, no matter how wealthy he was. But perhaps this simply showed that the old man truly trusted him, that he had the old man's loyalty–something, which would come in handy, should Christine need…convincing…to accept his marriage proposal. "Do you think Christine will accept the invitation?" he calmly asked.

Daae only too eagerly nodded his head. "Oh she will be delighted!"

Raoul cocked one golden eyebrow. "She will be fully recovered?"

Daae smiled and nodded his head. "She plans to return to rehearsals tomorrow, I'm sure she will be well enough to also attend dinner."

Raoul smiled at this, but his brow furrowed with confusion. "Surely she is very busy with trying to learn everything before opening night–"

"Oh no," Daae interrupted. "She knows all the songs by heart."

Raoul froze at these words. "S-s-she knows e-everything by heart?" he whispered. "All the music…e-everything? After only a few days of rehearsal?"

Daae nodded his head proudly. "Amazing, really. She does have a gift for quickly learning music, but even I was impressed with how swiftly she memorized her songs and notes."

"Indeed," Raoul whispered. Yet another piece to this puzzle involving the Phantom of the Opera, and it was evolving into a picture that the Vicomte did not like one bit.

"Monsieur Daae!" Monsieur Gerard bellowed from the orchestra pit. "We would like to rehearse now! And seeing as we only have a week…" the conductor muttered with irritation.

"Forgive me," Daae murmured to the Vicomte.

"Not at all," Raoul smiled at the old man, once again regaining his calm cool composure. "Please give your daughter my best wishes for her improving health, as well as my invitation. I shall meet her here, after rehearsal, and I will gladly bring her home."

Daae smiled and bowed his head once more, ignoring the frustrated cries of the conductor. "Thank you Raoul…it is a great honor and pleasure."

Raoul smiled and bowed his own head, watching as the old man turned in the direction of the pit. He turned then to the stage, not surprised to see the grim face of the ballet mistress staring back at him. With a polite smile, Raoul bowed his head to her, a gesture that only deepened her scowl.

"Madame Giry? If your dancers are ready?" Gerard asked from the pit.

The ballet mistress nodded her head and quickly clapped her hands. Several girls immediately took their places on stage, while a few could be heard giggling off to the side. Frowning, the woman crossed the stage in several great strides and clapped her hands again, the sound reverberating off the walls like thunder. Raoul turned to see where the woman's gaze was directed, and caught the glimpse of several ballet girls huddled around a stagehand.

The sudden thunderous clap awoke them from their trance, and they quickly turned to take their places on stage with the others. Madame Giry glared at the stagehand, who shrank slightly beneath her cold stare, before turning and nodding her head once more at the conductor. The music rose, and the girls immediately fell into the trained steps of their dance.

Normally the Vicomte would have thought nothing of the scene that he had just witnessed; it was not that uncommon to see the stagehands attempting to lure the ballet girls into the shadows, but this particular stagehand caused the Vicomte to pause. In truth, it was the object that the man was holding that had captured Raoul's interest.

Everyone else was distracted by the ballet's rehearsal, that no one noticed Raoul approaching the stagehand. "Excuse me…"

The man gasped and whirled around to see the Vicomte tower over him. The stagehand was short, pudgy, and had a scraggly graying beard on his pudgy face. He also smelled like someone who slept in his own fluids, a stench that caused Raoul to gag somewhat. But he quickly regained his composure and kept his emerald gaze locked on the man's plump face. "Where did you get that?" he pointed at the man's hands.

"I didn't do no harm! I didn't touch one of those girls! I'm just doin' me job!"

Raoul rolled his eyes at the man's defensive pleas. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he muttered. "I just want to know where you got… _that_."

The stagehand looked down at the object that he held in his hands.

It was a noose. And not just any noose…one that looked oddly familiar to the one Raoul had examined at the police station.

"I didn't do nothin', I was just doin' as Bouquet did before he disappeared."

Raoul's brow furrowed with confusion. "Bouquet?"

The stagehand nodded his head. "Used to be chief stagehand, till he was fired all those months ago. No one's seen him since…" he leaned in and whispered, as if sharing a big secret. "Some think the Phantom got him!"

Raoul cocked a brow at these words. "Do they? And what did you mean by 'doing what he did'?"

The stagehand glanced upward and then looked all around him before speaking. "Bouquet told stories about…about the Phantom," he whispered. "Now that he's gone, I feel it's my duty to continue them."

Raoul nodded his head. "And that?" he indicated at the noose the man held. "A prop to aid your storytelling?"

The man looked down at the noose once more before glancing around again. "Ain't no prop…it's real."

Raoul frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've been working at this theater for nearly 25 years," the man stated proudly. "And I've seen many a thing that can't be explained. But none so strange as…well…" he looked around again, the nervousness on his face growing more and more.

"Go on," Raoul urged, more anxious than irritated.

"W-w-well," the man continued, swallowing the nervous lump that was in his throat. "Once there was this man by the name of Charles…don't remember too much about him, but he was the sort that just asked for trouble. Always drinking when he shouldn't have been…chasing anything that wore a skirt…" the man sighed and shook his head sadly. "Phantom warned him…told him to start doin' his duties or else. But stupid Charles…he didn't believe in the Phantom, thought him nothin' but a ghost story…well, he don't think that now, wherever he be."

Raoul narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

The man looked surprised at the Vicomte's question. "Charles was warned, but ignored the warnings! Kept on doin' as he did, poor soul."

Raoul groaned as the stagehand bowed his head as if in prayer. "What happened to him?" he hissed. "Did the Phantom kill him? Tell me!"

The pudgy stagehand jumped at the Vicomte's voice. "It w-w-was during a performance of _Faust_ –Charles was up there," he pointed at the catwalk high above. "The ballet were dancing, no one saw it coming until…" he shivered at the memory. "His body fell…b-but before it hit the stage, it stopped…h-he was hangin' you see…but he never screamed! H-he was already dead!"

Raoul eyed the man suspiciously. "You saw this?"

The stagehand nodded his head. "I…I saw his body hangin' from off stage…Bouquet claimed h-he saw the Phantom throw him."

"And the police? Were they summoned?" he anxiously asked.

The stagehand nodded his head. "Charles reeked with alcohol, police said it was an accident, that he was so drunk he fell off the catwalk himself, and his neck got caught in the ropes."

Raoul wondered if LeDue was chief inspector then. He doubted it, but he was beginning to see where the man's incompetence had come from.

He glanced at the noose once more, before grabbing it out of the man's hands. Just like the other one, it was made of fine smooth threads. "He was hung with this?"

The stagehand shook his head. "No…t-that was what killed him. The Phantom strangles his victims with it. Bouquet called it the 'punjab lasso'; s-said it was from Persia, how he knew that I don't know, b-b-but he said he s-saw the Phantom strangle Charles with it, and then wrapped the ropes from several sandbags around his neck, before throwing him over!"

Persian. Just like the expensive curtains he had in his own town house.

Why or how the Phantom got his hands on threads like these made no sense, but every cold-blooded murderer had a "signature" of some kind. Apparently the Phantom preferred Middle Eastern thread for his nooses than mere rope.

"How did you get your hands on this?"

The man looked around again, the nervousness extremely apparent now. "Bouquet got it somehow…I…I don't know how exactly…b-b-but he claimed to have several things of the Phantom's. I knew w-where he kept them, s-so after he disappeared, I felt it was me duty to continue his stories…and warn others about the Phantom."

Raoul eyed the noose one last time before looking at the short pudgy stagehand. "I'll give you 100 franks for it."

The man gasped. "100 franks?"

"Sold," Raoul muttered, tossing the money at the stagehand without a second thought. However, before he turned to leave, a new question arose in his mind. "You said you've been working here for nearly 25 years…?"

The stagehand reluctantly looked away from his money. "Me and Bouquet have been here the longest…" he paused, before adding, "well, guess it's just me now…"

Raoul ignored the man's sad recollections. "When you joined the company, was the Phantom already sending notes?"

The man opened his mouth to reply, but stopped, a pensive look creasing his grizzled features. "You know…when I think about it…I don't remember hearing anything about the Phantom or any notes until…well…at least a few years later?"

"Interesting," Raoul whispered. "Thank you for your time, and for the story."

The man watched as Raoul walked away. "Here now…w-what are you goin' do with that?"

Raoul heard the man's question, but didn't bother to turn around and answer him. He knew exactly what he was going to do. "Your move, Monsieur Phantom."

 

* * *

 

Christine sighed as she gazed out her window, watching several soft flakes fall from the sky. A cold winter breeze blew in through the opened window, but she didn't care. Her heart was longing for him, singing to him, praying that perhaps he would feel her, just as she had felt his presence the other day.

Christine had protested when her father told her to stay home and rest. He assumed it was because she wanted to prove to everyone that she was capable of singing the lead, as well as handle all the pressure. But that wasn't it at all; yesterday, in that dressing room, something happened. For the first time since her return to the Paris Opera House…she had felt him.

She spent so many moments wondering if Erik knew she was there, wondering if he was watching her, wondering if he could hear her sing, and if so, what he was thinking. Was he pleased? Disappointed? Did he even care?

But yesterday, when she was left alone in that dressing room…something happened. Out of nowhere, the song that they had created, the love song between Don Juan and Aminta, rose up in her throat and escaped her lips. As if by some mysterious spell, she could hear his voice singing back to her, singing Don Juan's part…and while she knew it sounded crazy…she swore she saw him…in the mirror…

"I don't know what to think anymore…" she sighed unhappily. A part of her wanted to hate him, to despise him, to simply forget him and all that they had shared, to focus entirely on the horrid things he had said and accept that as the simple truth.

But the other part of her, the part of her which was louder and stronger, told her that this was all wrong, that the words he had said and the thoughts she were having…were not true. She momentarily closed her eyes as she remembered the song…

"…Say you love me?" she softly whispered. Was she mad? She could have sworn she heard his beautiful voice respond…

"Mademoiselle! Come away from there, you'll catch your death!"

Christine turned to see Marguerite hurry into the room and quickly rush over to shut the window. One last blast of cold air hit her face as the window closed with a thud. With a deep sigh, Christine prepared herself for the pretty maid's lecture.

"Mademoiselle, you should be in bed, resting! I have strict orders from your father to make sure you get plenty of rest, and that you eat every last bit of your supper," the maid ordered, pulling the tray of food that she carried over to Christine's bedside.

Christine said nothing, she simply eyed the food with disdain, however she was in no mood to argue, and after all, the girl was simply following orders and doing what she thought was right…even if she did speak in a patronizing tone; Marguerite couldn't have been much older than her.

"Thank you," Christine murmured, deciding that the soup on her tray was the safest option.

Marguerite smiled and did a little curtsy, before turning to leave…but then paused when she reached the door. "Begging your pardon, mademoiselle, but…may I ask you something?"

Christine could not hide her surprise at the young woman's question. She had not had the opportunity to truly speak to Marguerite, at least not on a level where one got to know the other. "Yes, of course," she smiled politely, wondering what was on the girl's mind.

"Well…I know it's none of my business…" the maid began, her face turning pink with each word. "But…but I was just wondering…well…" she could not contain her giggles anymore, and they erupted in a mighty shower. "Are you and the Vicomte de Chagny engaged?"

Christine began choking on her soup. "W-w-w-what?" she coughed.

Marguerite stopped giggling and quickly rushed over to pat Christine's back. "Oh dear, did I ruin the surprise? I'll never forgive myself if I have," she murmured with worry.

Christine shook her head, her coughs now under control. "No…no…you ruined nothing, please…" she lifted her hand to stop the young maid from pounding her back. "W-what made you think w-w-we were engaged?"

It was now Marguerite who looked puzzled. "Why, he seems to frequently call on you, and last night…well, the other night he was talking to your father after you had gone to bed, so…well…I had assumed…"

Christine's eyes widened at these words. Was it possible? Had Raoul discussed the possibilities of marrying her with her father…behind her back? How could her father do such a thing without telling her!

But she quickly shook her head, telling herself it was a simple misunderstanding. Why on earth would the Vicomte wish to marry her? She had no money, no connections, no titles to her name; yet he did always seem persistent. Good God, what if her father was right, that somehow, the Vicomte did…love her?

She shook her head at this notion; it was not that she believed people could not fall in love with others above and below their station, after all, her mother, the daughter of a wealthy French aristocrat, had married her pauper father. It was simply that she was unsure if the Vicomte could love someone that way. True, he had shown tenderness and kindness…but Christine could not shake this feeling that he had ulterior motives.

"Mademoiselle?"

Christine shook her head, realizing that Marguerite was awaiting an answer. "No, we are not engaged, he is simply…being charitable to us."

The maid frowned at this, but chose not to say anything further on the subject. "I'll come back later to collect your tray," she murmured with a curtsy, before turning and leaving Christine alone in the room.

She wasn't a woman with high social connections, but Christine was beginning to realize just how scandalous it must seem to have Raoul's recurring presence practically every evening. "This is all my fault," she groaned, regretting now her acceptance for taking his flat. "No wonder they're whispering things at the opera house. I must look like his…his…" she couldn't finish the words. No, what she needed to do was to get out of that place, she and her father needed to find a place of their own and soon. But was it too late? Had the gossip gone too far? No one would ever think ill of the Vicomte; after all, it was not unusual for men of his…kind…to have mistresses.

Christine's stomach churned at the very thought.

She pushed the food away, her appetite now completely gone, and pulled the blankets up around her. This was not how she wanted to live her dream, this was not how she wanted her opera to be. It sickened her to hear the rumors that she was bedding the Vicomte, and even the managers, to have the part. People were more afraid of angering the Phantom, than paying any attention to whether she was a decent singer. She wanted to play this role because Erik had, in a sense, written it for her, and because she had made it her own.

But it didn't seem to matter anymore. She felt wretched, vile, and disgusting.

With a sad sigh, she laid her head down, and prayed for a dreamless sleep to take her far away.

 

* * *

 

Her prayers were in vain, for she was dreaming.

"Christine…"

His voice. It was Erik's voice, haunting her once more. Why? Why was she being tortured like this?

"Christine…"

She looked around herself, noticing that nothing had changed about the surroundings in her dream. She was in her room, only it was very dark, and there was a distinct chill. Funny, she didn't recall ever feeling cold in her dreams before…

What sort of dream was this? She continued hearing him call out her name, but he was nowhere to be seen. Had he truly become the Opera Ghost in this dream? She wrapped the blanket about her shoulders, hugging the fabric to her body to block out the cold. It seemed to be coming from her window…

"I thought Marguerite had closed it?" she whispered to herself. But this was a dream, she reminded herself, and anything was possible in dreams. In her dream, the window was once again open, blowing a crisp cold wind into her room.

"Christine…"

"Erik?" Christine froze when she heard his voice once more. Only this time, it didn't seem to be coming from across the plains of time…but rather…from her window.

She sat fully up, her bare feet just barely touching the carpeted floor. He sounded so close…as if he were just beyond the curtains. "Erik?" she whispered again, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Are…are you here?"

Suddenly, the curtains flew open, and a great stream of snowflakes burst into the room, like tens of thousands of butterflies having hatched from their cocoons. A great stream of moonlight flowed through the open window, piercing the darkness of the room and illuminating it in a silver glow.

But nothing was more breathtaking in that moment than the man who stood beside the curtains, the moonlight illuminating his masked face, while the shadows continued to swallow his body. _How strange_ , she thought. Her dream Erik wore a different mask, a black one that covered both sides of his face. The mask itself was slightly more terrifying than the white half-mask that she knew him to wear, but Christine held no fear as she gazed at him; how could she be afraid when his beautiful amber eyes burned with such passion, such warmth?

She held her breath as she watched him take a step towards her, now fully coming into the light. He was dressed simply, no cloak, no suit coat, no costume–just a white shirt, open at the neck, revealing his broad chest, black breeches, and knee-high boots.

He was her dark prince, a hero out of her gothic romances…and he had come for her.

She opened her mouth to speak to him, a part of her wanting to reach out and touch him, and a part of her reminding her silly self that this was a dream, and he was, indeed, a phantom of her imagination. However, before she could speak, before she could decide whether to go to him or whether to tell herself to wake up…he began to sing.

"Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation…"

Christine felt a shiver run down her spine at the sound of his voice, such a strange combination of baritone and tenor. Indeed, she was feeling heightened by sensations…

"Darkness stirs and wakes imagination…"

He continued singing, slowly, quietly, approaching her, his eyes locking with her own.

"Silently the senses abandon their defenses…"

Christine thought her heart would stop beating as Erik held his hand out to her. Not once did she look at it, and not once did she stop to think and question what she was doing.

On instinct, she placed her small hand in his, and let out a long shaky breath as she felt his large warm fingers envelope her own.

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor…" he sang, pulling her to her feet. "Grasp it, sense it–tremulous and tender…"

Christine held her breath as she felt his fingers softly touch her chin and lift her face towards his.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day,  
turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light–  
and listen to the music of the night…"

He released her chin and then took both her hands in his, leading her into the pool of moonlight that flooded the room.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!  
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before!  
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar…"

Christine moaned and felt her lashes flutter against her cheeks as his silken spell wove around her.

He leaned in, his lips mere inches from her ear. "And you'll live as you've never lived before…"

Christine whimpered as she felt his hands stroke her face, her eyes fluttering open once more to gaze into his own.

"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you…" she gasped as she felt him move around her, his hands sliding down from her face to her shoulders, and then slowly, agonizingly, running down the length of her arms.

"Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you…" he sang, his voice growing deeper, almost like a passionate growl, and Christine whimpered and leaned back against him as she felt his arms entwine around her waist.

"Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind,  
in this darkness which you know you cannot fight–  
the darkness of the music of the night."

Christine gasped when she suddenly felt her body being whirled around, till once more, she was facing him. She looked up at him and whispered his name, before gasping once more as his strong hands gripped her around the waist, and lifted her off the floor. Her own hands gripped his powerful shoulders, her eyes never leaving his as his song continued.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world!  
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before!  
Let your soul take you where you long to be!"

He held the note of the last word for so long that Christine gasped when finally he caught his breath. She let out another long shaky breath as he slowly, painstakingly, lowered her back to the floor, her body on fire as she brushed his.

"Only then…can you belong to me…" his words were practically a whisper.

Christine's eyes drifted shut once more as she felt him gently turn her again, so that she was leaning against him once more.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication! Touch me…trust me…" one hand held hers and lifted it up to the side of his face that was disfigured. Christine whimpered as she ran her fingers over his masked cheek, wishing she could feel the skin beneath. She let out an even louder gasp when she felt his other hand brush over her thigh, before sliding up her body and running across her breasts. "Savor each sensation…" he whispered in her ear, his voice filled with passion, and his body showing his desire.

"Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in  
to the power of the music that I write–  
the power of the music of the night!"

Without warning, he whirled her around once more, and with a passionate groan, his mouth crushed hers. Christine moaned against his lips, her mouth immediately opening and offering him entrance, her tongue eagerly welcoming his, and her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer to her.

Erik kissed her back with as much passion, if not more, his arms enfolding her and pulling her off the ground and against his chest. As he kissed her, he began to twirl her around the room, the snowflakes swirling and dancing around them. He felt her joyful tears run over his cheeks; fitting, as they were mingling with his own. He could hear the happy, thankful laughter bubbling in her throat as they twirled in the snow, only to be suppressed by the intensity of the kiss which they were sharing.

He longed for more, and he could feel her body eagerly respond to his. It would be so easy, to simply fall upon her bed and to lose themselves to this overwhelming passion. He wanted to make love to her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life…

But he could hear the footsteps in the hallway just beyond her door, and he knew that her father would wish to see how she was. He also knew that Christine believed this to be a dream, and for the moment, he would let her believe that.

He would see her again, he needed to. Everything would be put to right, and he and his angel would be reunited once more, and no one, not even the Vicomte himself, would part them.

She may be accepting the Vicomte's charity, but her kiss tonight, the passion he felt in her embrace, and the love he saw in her eyes, told him everything–her heart belonged, and remained, to her Phantom.

Reluctantly, Erik lifted his face from hers, his lips brushing across her forehead, before sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her back to the bed. Christine gazed up at him as she felt him lay her down upon the sheets, and watched with aching sadness as he pulled the blankets up over her body.

He would not be joining her. But then, this was a dream, she reminded herself.

However, instead of instantly disappearing into the shadows, he lowered himself down to one knee and took her hands in his, singing once more.

"You alone can make my song take flight…"

She watched as he pulled something from the pocket of his breeches. She could not see what it was, but she gasped as she felt it touch her hand. He leaned down and brushed his lips once more against hers, before murmuring against them, "Help me make the music of the night…"

She watched as he slowly rose from the edge of the bed, his tenor holding the note in such a way that it sent shivers down her spine, but it also caused her eyes to grow heavy, as if he were casting some sort of sleeping spell over her with his lullaby.

He continued to hold the note, his voice growing ever softer as he slowly backed away from the bed, until his body was once more swallowed up by the shadows of the room. And just as her eyes drifted shut, so did the moonlight disappear with him.

 

* * *

 

"Christine?"

Had he returned? Her eyes flew open at the sound of her name being called, but she realized quickly that it was not Erik's voice that was calling her, but that of her father's.

"Christine? Are you alright?"

She looked up to see her father's worried face hovering above. "I thought I heard…singing…" he softly explained, although he knew it must sound unbelievable.

Christine sat up at his words, and she stared at her father with wide eyes. "Singing?"

Daae nodded his head. "I know, very strange, must have been my imagination," he sighed with a shake of his head. He quickly wrapped his arms around his body as a shiver overtook him. "Awfully cold in here," he muttered.

Christine looked at the window, but noticed it was shut, just as Marguerite had done earlier that evening. She knew it had been a dream, she knew it even while she dreamt him…yet it felt more real than any dream she had had before.

"Christine? Is something wrong?" her father asked, his eyes filling with concern.

She looked up at him and smiled at the tenderness she saw in his face. "I'm fine," she promised, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "It was simply a dream, that's all."

Daae's brow furrowed at her words, but nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, you're right…I must have dreamt what I heard. Well, you should continue to get your rest, my dear, tomorrow the managers are hoping to see you at rehearsals," he explained.

Christine smiled and nodded her head. For the first time since she had joined the company, she was actually beginning to look forward to rehearsals. "Goodnight, Papa," she murmured, kissing his cheek as he bent to kiss hers.

"Goodnight, my child," he smiled, before turning and quietly shutting the door to her room.

Christine sighed and fell back against her pillows. _Funny_ , she thought. She would have thought that after such an intense dream she would be sad. Truly, it felt as if Erik had been there! She remembered his embrace, she remembered his kiss…everything! And yet she felt…happy. As if her hopes were being renewed…

She pulled the covers up to her chin to ward off the distinct chill that now filled the room, determined to somehow get some sleep despite this strange feeling that was coursing through her, when she let out a great gasp of realization.

She pulled her left hand out from beneath the blankets and stared at it with wide-eyed shock.

Her once naked finger, now wore an elegant diamond ring.

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine is determined to tell Raoul that her heart is not for him, but her attempts only lead to a series of misunderstandings...

_**Misunderstanding** _

Raoul strolled into the police station, his expression one of smug satisfaction. The officer who noticed his presence first groaned inwardly, but hastily pasted a smile across his face. "Good day, monsieur, we were not expecting you today."

Raoul smiled at the young officer. "To tell you the truth, I had not planned to visit, but after a recent conversation, I realized that yes, I could afford time out of my schedule to stop by."

The officer continued to smile, although it was extremely apparent that it was not genuine. "Inspector LeDue is not here at the moment–"

"I do not wish to speak with Inspector LeDue," Raoul cut in. "And stop smiling like that, you look like an absolute idiot."

The officer's smile quickly fell, but his interest was now peaked at Raoul's announcement that he did not wish to speak with the chief inspector. "May I ask then, monsieur, what…well, what–"

"What perhaps you can do for me?" Raoul finished the sentence, his smile growing by the second. "Yes, you may." Without another word, he tossed the noose that the stagehand had sold to him to the officer.

The young officer let out a surprised gasp and stared at the object he now held with wide eyes. "This looks like…forgive me for bringing up painful memories, monsieur, but…this looks like–"

"The same noose that had been around my own neck but a few nights ago? Yes," Raoul confirmed, although his warm smile had momentarily vanished. "I got this one off a stagehand at the Paris Opera House, and no, he was not the man who attempted to murder me, so don't even begin to make such accusations."

The officer closed his mouth and quickly nodded his head. He gazed once more at the noose he now held and then back at the Vicomte. "If you don't mind me asking, monsieur, but…how exactly did he obtain–"

"The Phantom of the Opera," Raoul said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "And before you begin to mimic your chief inspector, do this for me, and I shall pay you handsomely."

The officer once more closed his mouth and without another word nodded his head. "Yes monsieur! What can I do for you?"

Raoul sighed and gazed at the noose in the officer's hands. "I assume you keep records of all your cases? At least of all your severe cases?"

The officer quickly nodded his head. "Oh yes, we keep records and files of many of our past cases, especially severe ones, such as murder investigations, if that is what you mean?"

Raoul's cool smile returned. "I want you to go through those past records, and find me all the cases that deal with the Paris Opera House."

The officer's eyes widened and his face paled at the Vicomte's instructions. "But monsieur! T-t-that could take hours…days even!"

"Don't worry, I only want you to investigate the past 25–" he paused for a moment, and then smiled even wider. "Make that the past 20 years. Go back 20 years and find me everything you can about police investigations with the Paris Opera House."

The officer could not suppress his groan of disdain. "It will still take many hours."

Raoul's calmness remained intact. "I do not mind, I have other…business…to attend to first anyway. Perhaps later this evening?" The officer looked ready to protest, but Raoul knew the answer that would win anyone over. "As I said before, I will pay you quite handsomely for your troubles."

The officer closed his mouth a third time and simply nodded his head in agreement. "If you come back later this evening I may have it ready?" he suggested.

Raoul thought for a second. "Tomorrow," he concluded, before placing his hat back on his head and turning to go. "I have a very important dinner engagement this evening."

 

* * *

 

Christine was furious.

She had not spoken to her father since that morning at breakfast when he announced that she would be joining the Vicomte de Chagny for dinner that very evening. The shock of the announcement had momentarily stunned Christine speechless; but when she regained her speech, her reaction was not the one her father was expecting.

"PAPA, HOW COULD YOU?"

Daae stared at his daughter, the shock she had worn now mirrored on him. "B-b-but my dear, I…I thought you would be thrilled–"

"THRILLED? YOU THOUGHT I WOULD BE THRILLED?" she threw her napkin down and pushed herself away from the table. "Naturally I would be thrilled," she muttered sarcastically. "After all, he's rich and handsome and charming. I must be a complete idiot to not find him agreeable!"

Daae winced at his daughter's high-pitched tone. "Christine–"

"NO!" she rounded on him, her palms pressing down on the table, causing it to creak, while she leaned down and stared at him, her eyes reflecting anger and betrayal. "I have told you, many times, that I do NOT like the Vicomte de Chagny, at least not in the way that you would have me like him!"

Daae flinched slightly at her words, but more at the sight of angry passionate tears that began to drip down her cheeks. "Christine, he is a good man–"

"Why, papa?" she demanded, her arms now folding across her chest as she glared at her father. "Why do you wish me to marry him? And don't deny that you were not thinking that, I can tell that this whole plot to have me be alone with him was simply another way to get the Vicomte to propose." She held her tongue about the scandal her and Raoul's meeting would cause; her father was misguided, but not vicious. He saw her as Cinderella and the Vicomte as her handsome fairy tale prince. Because it had happened to him, he thought it only natural that someone who was an aristocrat would marry someone who was a pauper.

Her father stared up at her, shock written across his aged face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Christine, who was pacing furiously back and forth across the room, rounded on him once more. "Is it because he is rich? Is that what this is all about?"

Daae gasped at her words. "Of course not! Christine, I will not deny that I want you to have every comfort in life, Lord knows I wish I could have provided your mother with the same, but I would be just as satisfied with him were he one of those stagehands at the opera house."

Christine groaned at his words. The stagehands were poor examples of decent men–yet perhaps fitting where the Vicomte was concerned.

"Christine…I've tried to understand your dislike for the man. But the only reasons I can find is that you believe him to be arrogant and you dislike his social class; not exactly reasons I find worthy to condemn him for all eternity."

"No, of course not," she spat, turning and grabbing her coat which Marguerite had laid out for her. "Never mind that I've told you, repeatedly, that he makes me uncomfortable, that I do not hold him in high esteem, and that I believe his kindness holds selfish motives that are only meant to benefit himself!" She pulled her coat on and stormed out the door, not pausing to even glance back at her father.

And so the day had continued. Upon arrival at the opera house, she made herself busy to avoid her father at all costs. If he attempted to speak with her, she knew that she would cause a scene, and more gossip was the last thing she needed. She threw herself into her work, her singing extremely passionate, although Monsieur Gerard had to pause every now and then to remind Christine to stop shouting her lyrics at Piangi, who looked somewhat terrified.

A thirty minute break was called, but Christine still did not feel ready to face her father, so she retreated to the only place where she was sure she could be alone; a place that she had been thinking about a great deal.

She quickly entered the star's dressing room, shutting the door and locking it, before leaning against the wooden surface, closing her eyes, and taking in a deep breath of relief. Peace and solitude; these were things she was beginning to cherish ever since she began singing with the company.

The room was rich in a beautiful fragrance. Christine opened her eyes to see where it was coming from, and gasped at the sight of hundreds of roses, of every shade and color, that adorned the elegant room.

They were strewn across her dressing table, scattered over the chaise lounge, and several bouquets hung from the large mirror against the wall. Christine's hands flew to her mouth in surprise at the beautiful sight, but her blue eyes sparkled with happiness, and her lips curled into a grin.

Erik had done this. He had been with her the last time she was in the dressing room, it wasn't just her imagination. And last night…

Christine had hidden the ring she had found on her finger last night, not exactly sure how to explain it to her father. She had kept the ring in a small pocket on her skirt, and now reached in to retrieve it. It was very beautiful, but also simple. Unlike the gaudy jewelry she saw many women of wealth wear, with large jewels set atop more jewels that looked to weigh the wearer down, the ring was a simple, elegant diamond, set atop a lovely gold band. Christine smiled and tenderly ran her fingers over the ring before taking a deep breath and slipping it once more upon her finger.

It wasn't a dream. He had been in her room last night, he had found her and his message with the ring was the same with the roses…

"He still loves me," she whispered to herself, hope springing to new life within her heart.

Without another thought, she picked up her skirts and ran to the mirror, pounding on it, running her fingers over its edges, seeking desperately to find the trigger mechanism that would open it. "Erik!" she cried, hoping that perhaps he would hear her. "Erik!"

"Who is Erik?"

Christine gasped at the sound of the other voice and whirled around, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of Carlotta, who was stepping from beyond the changing screen in the far corner of the room. Had she been hiding there this whole time?

"W-w-what are you doing here?" Christine asked, her voice shaking from the shock at seeing the prima donna, as well as with fear, wondering how much the soprano had witnessed.

Carlotta grinned, although it was a grin filled with sinister promises. "I believe I asked you first. It is rude you know, to ignore someone else's question."

Christine stared at the woman blankly. "This is my dressing room–"

"Don't be cute with me!" the diva snapped, her calm composure momentarily disappearing. However, another smile quickly replaced the frown she wore and she glided over to the dressing table, her fingers running over the roses that lay there. "I'll ask again…who is Erik?"

Christine's face paled. What could she say? By telling Carlotta who Erik really was, she would be betraying Erik's trust, not to mention endanger the lives of Jacque, Suzette, Gustave, and Rudolph.

Distraction was her only answer.

"I was simply rehearsing a scene from _Don Juan_ ," she said plainly, lifting her chin in hopes to not appear intimidated.

Carlotta eyed her suspiciously. "There's no 'Erik' in _Don Juan_ ," she retorted. "I've seen that score with my own eyes, I've watched every scene from rehearsals…" she cocked a golden eyebrow at Christine. "I think you're lying to me…"

Something inside Christine sparked to life at Carlotta's words. With her head held high and her eyes locked with the blonde soprano's, she said with an even tone, "Truth be told, signora…it's none of your damn business."

Carlotta's eyes widened at the young woman's words. All signs of cool collectiveness were gone. "How dare you speak to me in such a way, you disgusting little–"

"No, signora," Christine interrupted, her voice filled with cold disdain. "How dare you sneak into my dressing room and hide here, plotting who knows what," she accused, causing Carlotta's mouth to fall open from shock.

"I…I…I w-was…" she shook her head, anger boiling in her for the insolence of this country girl who was enjoying her new star status far too much. "This was MY dressing room at one point!" she angrily snapped back. "And I have as much right to come in here as–"

"No you don't, signora," Christine cut in. "This _was_ your dressing room at one point, but not anymore. Your privileges to enter it at any time have been stripped from you, at least during the rehearsal and performance of this particular opera," she calmly explained, before crossing the room to open the door. "Now, signora, if you don't mind," Christine said with a sweet smile, although her voice was anything but. "Get the hell out of my dressing room."

Carlotta was completely speechless. She stared at Christine with a mixture of hatred and astonishment. She attempted to speak, but her voice came out in gurgles. She attempted to move, but her anger had her frozen in place!

"Oh! Christine! There you are!"

Both women turned to see Meg Giry standing in the doorway of the dressing room. Meg was smiling, but one glance at Carlotta's face, which was the brightest shade of scarlet she had ever seen, caused the ballerina's smile to quickly disappear. "Um…sorry, I…I didn't mean to interrupt anything…"

"It's quite alright Meg," Christine reassured, her eyes traveling to Carlotta. "I am done with Signora Carlotta," she stated quite plainly, before glancing back at the dancer. "Am I wanted on stage?"

Meg nodded her head, but her eyes were still fastened on the prima donna who looked ready to explode like Pompeii. She gave Christine a smile, before quickly disappearing from the impending disaster.

Christine turned once more to the woman whose eyes looked to be throwing daggers. "Allow me to present you with my own accusation, signora, as you were quite ready to call me a liar," Christine said quite evenly, folding her arms across her chest. "I think you came in here with hopes to find some reason to be rid of me, or perhaps to spread more malicious gossip in order to intimidate me and make yourself feel superior–but allow me to reassure you that none of it will work." She glared back at Carlotta, her words cold as ice, and their meaning twice as sharp. "I remember you calling me 'most favored of the Phantom'. Perhaps you are right…after all, I was chosen over you, to play the lead. Perhaps I am favored?"

Carlotta just growled.

"The truth of the situation is this, signora," Christine concluded. "I am playing Aminta, and you can not make me leave, and you will not succeed in doing so," she pleasantly smiled, despite the other woman's silent fury. "Now," Christine gestured towards the door, "if you would be so kind as stay out of my dressing room from now on?"

That did it! Carlotta had had enough of this girl's impertinent–

She stopped momentarily, her eyes darting to Christine's hand as the light from the room reflected off the ring she wore. Christine didn't seem to notice, and Carlotta wanted to keep it that way, so without another word, she stormed out of the dressing room, grumbling in Italian to herself, but her mind still fresh with the image of the ring.

Christine let a large sigh escape her and leaned against the open door. She still couldn't believe that she had stood up to the woman! She bit her lip, a part of her worrying if perhaps she would later regret her words, but she lifted her chin, telling herself that she had a right to stand up for herself and not let others push her around. She smiled at this thought, and quietly closed the door behind her, before retreating to the stage where she could already hear Monsieur Gerard call her name in annoyance.

Behind the mirror, Erik smiled as he watched his angel depart. When he realized she had gone to the dressing room, he hastened to the mirror, wanting to see her reaction to the roses, but stopped short when instead he found her arguing with the harpy.

Never before had Erik been more proud of her. She stood up to the harpy's threats, put the damn woman in her place, and hopefully, reinstated the fear she and the others should have when it came to the Phantom of the Opera.

"Well done, Christine," he whispered. "Well done."

 

* * *

 

The afternoon rehearsals were long and tedious. Christine groaned and tried to massage the muscles in her lower back and neck, yearning for the time when she could go home and collapse upon her bed.

Would Erik come again tonight? She felt her heart skip a beat at the expectation at what the night would bring. Her eyes momentarily closed as memories of his beautiful song floated through her. It was as if he had written that song just for her...

Oh how she longed to lose herself in her girlish dreams and fantasies. But every time she glanced at the orchestra pit, her heart sank as she saw the sadness written across her father's face.

Christine's anger towards her father began to dissolve not long after her confrontation with Carlotta. Also, the absence of the Vicomte de Chagny during the day's rehearsal gave her fewer reasons to hold a grudge. Truth be, she knew her father loved her, and that he was only encouraging her to court the Vicomte because he wanted what he thought would be best for her. Sadly, her father was so blinded by Raoul's charms, that he could not see how manipulative the handsome nobleman was.

She couldn't entirely blame her father for liking the man. After all, according to her father, the Vicomte had often visited him in prison, and it was through Raoul's help that she had been able to free him. Christine was extremely grateful to Madame Giry and the hospitality of her household, but she knew that both she and her father were intruding upon them all, and once more, the Vicomte stepped forward with a solution.

Yes, she wearily thought, she could not blame her father for finding the man agreeable. Anyone in his situation would think she was mad for not being flattered by the Vicomte's attentions. Her only excuse lay with Erik, who revealed to her all the horrible things Raoul had done throughout the years he was a patron to the Paris Opera House. It was hard enough trying to convince her father of her own distrust towards the Vicomte; she could not even fathom how difficult it would be to reveal that her distrust came from stories revealed to her by the infamous Phantom.

"Daae!"

Christine gasped at the bark of her father's name, quickly waking from her trance and glancing at the orchestra pit to see why Monsieur Gerard was fuming.

"You're half a beat late…again!" the conductor groaned, throwing his baton down on the music stand.

Daae gave a somewhat sheepish smile, but quickly readjusted his music, avoiding Gerard's disapproving gaze. "I beg your pardon," he softly murmured. "I'll get it the next time."

Gerard threw his hands up in the air. "The next time? THE NEXT TIME?" he grabbed hold of his hair and looked ready to tear it out. "Monsieur…we've rehearsed this introduction sixteen times! And still, each and every time, you come in half a beat late!"

Daae flushed with embarrassment and began to shrink as the conductor threw curses to the wind. He glanced up at Christine, his eyes filled with sorrow and shame, and her heart immediately melted.

"Monsieur Gerard!" she called out, causing the swearing conductor to momentarily pause and turn to her. Christine took a deep breath and gave the man what she hoped was a pleasing smile, before speaking again. "Could perhaps we take a quick break? Of ten minutes? I know that Signor Piangi has been standing for quite some time and would probably benefit with a quick stretch of the legs," she suggested, smiling at Piangi, who in truth did look exhausted.

Gerard eyed Christine for a moment before shrugging his shoulders in agreement. "Fine. We're not exactly making any progress at the moment anyhow," he muttered.

The orchestra groaned with relief, and Christine immediately went to her father's side, who was silently tuning the strings on his violin.

She didn't say anything; she knew this was his way of dealing with his shame. Her father was a perfectionist; he didn't need someone to tell him how disappointed they were with his playing, he was already reprimanding himself for it. He finally looked up at her, a sad smile spreading across his face. "Looks like I need to practice harder," he said simply. Christine returned the same sad smile he had shown, knowing he was trying very hard to rise above his own disappointment.

"It's not easy music to learn," she sighed. "And you've had less time than everyone here to rehearse. They should be praising all that you have accomplished, not pin-pricking the tiniest of details."

Daae smiled to himself. "Ah, but my dear, sometimes the tiniest of details make the most difference to whether someone will be moved by music." She smiled at his philosophy, knowing that she too possessed such a spirit when it came to singing, thanks in large part to Erik. "Besides," her father added. "It took you no time at all to learn your songs. Now that is an accomplishment."

Christine's cheeks flushed at his words, but remained calm, knowing that her father was merely speculating, as opposed to putting puzzle pieces together. She reached out and took his hand in hers, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry for shouting at you this morning…and for avoiding you all day," she gave a heavy sigh and looked down at her feet. "I've been a selfish child."

"No, my dear," Daae murmured, squeezing her fingers back. "It is I who should ask for your forgiveness." He smiled sadly, and reached out to brush a stray brown curl that had fallen across her cheek. "You are my pride and joy in this world and your happiness matters more to me than anything else," his words were warm, but Christine read the deep sadness in his eyes. He looked down and softly groaned, before whispering, "When I lost you to the Phantom, I thought my life had ended. And as those long days in that prison turned into weeks…and then months…I wondered if I would ever see you again. I feared I would die before seeing your face once more…"

"Papa–"

He lifted his hand, motioning for her to allow him to continue. "Then a miracle happened," he smiled. "You found me, and we were together again," a few tears trickled down his wrinkled face as he gazed into her eyes. "But after that moment, I realized that my greatest worry was not whether I would see you again…but knowing whether you would be alright."

Christine swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded her head. She knew now what her father was trying to say. "The Vicomte de Chagny was good to me," he continued. "Whenever we were in need, he always seemed to be there, ready to help, and I thought to myself…this is a man that I know I could trust with the safety, comfort, and life of my dearest treasure…" he smiled and caressed her cheek with gentle fingers. Christine smiled at the gesture, but her own eyes were unable to meet his; how could she begin to give her father hope when it would be lying to her heart?

"He seems like such a good man…and he is very handsome," he added, a soft chuckle in his voice. "And you would never want for anything…even love, for I do believe he does care deeply for you…"

Christine closed her eyes to block back the tears. She did not wish for her father to see her crying, especially not over the Vicomte.

"…but I can never condemn you to such a life."

Christine's eyes flew open and she looked up at her father, her brow furrowed with confusion. "W-w-what?"

Daae smiled, a sad smile, but one filled with love for his daughter. "What I wish for you is not the same as what you wish. I told you Christine, I want nothing more than your happiness, and while I want you to be loved and cherished for the precious treasure that you are…so do I want you to feel love and to cherish someone just as fiercely."

Christine's mouth fell open with surprise. She knew she was crying, but she wasn't exactly sure for what reason. "Papa…are you…are you saying–"

"You have told me, many times, that your feelings for the Vicomte are not entirely favorable," he murmured. "I did listen to you, but a part of me wanted to hold onto the belief that perhaps you would change your mind. But he is not the man for you…I see that now. And it wasn't right of me to make arrangements for you to have dinner with him…"

"Papa–"

"No Christine, it's true. What you said this morning was true," he took both her hands in his and squeezed them tenderly. "I want you to be happy, and I want you to find a man who you can love, and who will make you happy. That is my wish for you," he smiled and reached up to wipe away one of her tears. "And I will speak to the Vicomte this evening and apologize for answering on your behalf, and simply explain that you will be unable to have dinner with him."

She could not deny the fact that she was grateful to hear him say that, but the ease she yearned to feel did not come. "No Papa…"

Daae's eyes widened at her words. "No?"

Christine took a deep breath; she couldn't believe what she was about to say. "I…I will have dinner with him, tonight."

The old man looked very confused. "But…but I thought that you–"

"I don't…I mean, yes, I am grateful for all that he has done for us…but my feelings for him are not warm or tender or loving," she sighed deeply. "I don't love him, and it would be a lie to pretend that I care for him in any great capacity. But even if you do apologize on my behalf, I do not think he will understand what you are trying to say for me. And…you shouldn't be the one who has to say it, it's my responsibility, really."

Daae stared at his daughter, discomfort mounting in his eyes. "Christine, he is a gentleman. While it is not news that most men would favor, you make it sound as if he'll…he'll hunt us down and force you to marry him!"

Christine bit her lip. Why would Raoul wish to marry her she had no idea, in fact, she doubted very much that it was marriage that ruled the Vicomte's mind. She was simply another conquest in his eyes, an uncharted land that he wanted to explore and claim as his own. "The Vicomte is most persistent," she muttered. "If you tell him my feelings, he may not understand or believe them to be true. I should be the one to tell him, and I will, tonight."

Daae now bit his lip, the worry lines on his forehead creasing greatly. "I do not like the sound of this Christine…"

Neither did she; but as far as Christine could tell, it may be the only way to convince Raoul to stop pursuing her. Now all she needed to do was convince herself that this was the right thing to do…

 

* * *

 

Eight o' clock came far too soon.

Christine had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening dreading every passing hour. And she was beginning to seriously doubt her plan.

Her father, who had always been praising the Vicomte's kindness and gentility, truly looked concerned when she mentioned she would accept the invitation. That in itself was disconcerting. But more than that was the question as to where they would be having dinner. She recalled how a few nights ago the Vicomte suggested that both she and her father join him at his town house. It would not be proper at all for a single woman to attend a private dinner party at the house of a single man, no matter how renowned his reputation was. The scandal would never hurt Raoul, but she could greatly suffer from it.

She took a deep breath and ran her fingers across the ring, praying for courage to get her through the evening.

At a quarter to eight, the auditorium doors opened, and Raoul stepped forth, dressed in his finest, a bouquet of yellow roses in hand.

Several girls in the ballet began giggling when they noticed him holding the flowers, but Madame Giry quickly shushed them to silence.

Carlotta had noticed the Vicomte's grand appearance, and her eyes glowed with hateful fire at the roses he held.

Monsieur Gerard knew it was hopeless to try and keep order with the company, now that the Vicomte de Chagny had entered, so with his hands thrown in the air, he muttered in a defeated tone, "until tomorrow," and ended the rehearsal.

Christine felt her cheeks grow hot under the Vicomte's gaze. She quickly glanced at her father, whose expression was one filled with worry and uncertainty. "Good evening, monsieur," he greeted in a somewhat strained voice as Raoul slowly approached the stage.

"Ah, good evening Monsieur Daae," Raoul returned warmly, bowing elegantly before the old man. "And good evening to you, mademoiselle," he murmured, his eyes moving over Christine hungrily.

Christine smiled back, somewhat nervously, but Raoul didn't seem to take any notice. His eyes were too busy raking across the swell of her breasts beneath the lacy green gown that she wore.

Raoul momentarily snapped out of his trance and held the roses out to Christine. "Shall we?" he offered, extending his hand to help her down from the stage.

Christine smiled once more, although it took great force to do so. She reluctantly took the flowers, and even more reluctantly, took his hand. "I just need to gather my belongings."

"Ah, actually, my coachman, Daniel, has already fetched your things," Raoul smiled, snapping his fingers as if he were calling a dog, and Daniel came rushing forward, with Christine's coat open.

Daae eyed the Vicomte suspiciously. "You do seem to plan for things well in advance, monsieur," he murmured.

Raoul turned and smiled, taking Daae's words as a compliment. "Thank you…but what is this 'monsieur' business? Please, call me Raoul…" he looked at both Christine and her father, indicating that he wished for them both to be less formal with him.

Christine glanced around the stage warily. She could feel dozens of eyes gazing upon her, some of them curious, some of them envious, and many of them judging. She caught Madame Giry's gaze which chilled her to the bone. The ballet mistress' dark eyes seemed to grow even blacker as she watched Christine politely take Raoul's arm as he led her out of the auditorium.

She could only begin to imagine what some of them were thinking of her…

Raoul led her out the doors into the cold night air, his finest carriage being pulled by four beautiful snowy white horses, waiting for their departure. Daae followed them all the way out to the carriage, and watched with unease as Raoul helped Christine inside. "Monsieur," he reached out and grasped the Vicomte's arm before he could climb in after her.

Raoul turned, his eyes filled with confusion, as well as some annoyance with being delayed. "Please Monsieur Daae, call me–"

"Raoul," Daae finally muttered. "It…it has been a very long day for my daughter, she has been singing all morning and afternoon, and…I do not think she has entirely recovered from her brief illness two days ago, I…I think it would be best if…if perhaps you bring her home within the hour."

Raoul stared at the old man as if he had been told that Christine herself was the Phantom of the Opera. The handsome man's face broke into a smile, and then rich deep laughter erupted from his chest.

Daae scowled at the way his concern was being mocked. He was beginning to understand his daughter's disdain for the man.

"Oh…forgive me, forgive me," Raoul sighed, his laugh tapering off. "You did say that…you wish me to bring Christine home within the hour?"

Daae lifted his chin stubbornly. "Indeed, monsieur, and I do not appreciate my concern for my daughter's health to be mocked!"

All the jest that was alight in Raoul's eyes vanished. He did not appreciate people giving him orders, especially when the person was an old lunatic. However, instead of letting his irritation show, he put on another charming smile, and reached out to give the old man's shoulder a firm squeeze. "Forgive me," he bowed. "I assure you, I will have her home before midnight; she will get the rest that she rightly deserves," without another word or glance, Raoul released Daae and climbed inside the carriage. "And good luck to you, monsieur, with your violin playing!" he called out, just as the carriage driver cracked his whip.

Christine leaned her head out to look at her father for a brief moment as the carriage began to pull away, the worry clearly evident in his eyes. She truly doubted the sense in her plan.

Raoul watched her intently as she settled herself back in her seat. He noticed how rigid she sat, how every muscle in her body was on full alert. "Relax, my dear," he murmured warmly. "You have had a hard day from the sound of it," he smiled, reaching into a basket that lay under his seat.

Christine knew that when she was alone with the Vicomte de Chagny, she would never truly relax.

She watched as he pulled out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "I think we can begin our celebration somewhat early. After all, you do deserve it," he grinned, popping the cork off the bottle and happily pouring himself a glass.

"No thank you," Christine replied, as Raoul handed her the glass. "I prefer to wait until we are at dinner."

The Vicomte scowled, but only momentarily. "As you wish, mademoiselle," he smiled, lifting the glass in her direction, before taking a sip of it.

Christine smiled, but it was still a smile of nervousness. She wanted to have all her wits about her, especially when they were alone together in a carriage. But it was most disconcerting to watch him drink–what if he lost all of his wits? Her fingers simply tightened about her purse and she turned her eyes to gaze out the carriage window. "I must say," she began, hoping to distract him with conversation; she detested the way he eyed her. "I was surprised to see you at the opera house."

Raoul, who was gazing at Christine's skirt and imagining what her legs looked like under it, was momentarily shaken by her words. "Surprised?" he asked, taking another sip of champagne. "But you knew–"

"I meant I was surprised because I did not think you would be taking me to dinner yourself…I assumed you would be meeting me there, and your driver would take me," she explained.

Raoul smiled, now fully understanding what she meant. "Well, that would have made excellent sense if I were having you join me for dinner at my town house…however, after your father told me that he would be unable to join us…I made new arrangements."

As if on cue, the carriage came to a stop. Christine's brow furrowed as she gazed out the window at the lovely stone building with candles lit in every window. "Where are we?" she asked, turning back to the Vicomte.

Raoul grinned and climbed out of the carriage after Daniel opened the door. He offered his hand and helped Christine down as well. "Welcome to the Château de Cuisine," he smiled proudly. "One of my favorite restaurants in all of Paris."

Christine bit her lip as she gazed up at the elegant building. She always believed that the lacy green gown that she was wearing was quite pretty, but it was nowhere near as stylish a dress for such a fancy place. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as one elegantly dressed couple exited the restaurant, the woman dressed in purple silk, fine jewels, and mink fur, eyeing her with contempt. She tried to reassure herself that at least she would not be alone in his home; surely that would lessen the scandal. However, now that they were being seen in public, who knows what sort of gossip would spread…

As far as Christine was concerned, it was a lose-all situation for her.

"Ah! Monsieur Vicomte!" a finely dressed waiter greeted them as they entered the restaurant. "So good to see you this evening!" the waiter turned to Christine and smiled down at her, although he too seemed to be judging her simple appearance.

"Pleasure as always, Jean," Raoul grinned. "I trust you have my table reserved and waiting?"

"But of course!" Jean replied, happily leading them through the throng of patrons that crowded the front of the restaurant. _Raoul is used to people gazing at him, he probably expects it_ , Christine thought. But as hard as she tried to keep her head held high, she could not conceal the blush on her cheek as she noticed several people lean in to whisper to one another, while also pointing their fingers in speculation, at her.

"Here we are!" Jean happily announced, opening a silken curtain to reveal a small, private dining room, decorated with candles and crushed rose petals, overlooking a beautiful view of the river.

"It's beautiful," Christine whispered.

Raoul's chest seemed to swell with pride. "Thank you Jean, I shall help mademoiselle with her seat."

The waiter bowed graciously. "Louis will be serving you this evening. I will have him bring you a bottle of our finest–"

"1854 Bordeaux," Raoul finished.

Jean smiled and nodded his head, before closing the silk curtains behind him.

Christine whispered her thanks as he helped her with her coat and then pulled her chair out for her. It was indeed a lovely room, nothing like she had ever imagined. If only her company were different…

"They have excellent fish here," Raoul explained as he opened his menu. "Although I find the filet minion is quite excellent as well," he murmured, studying the list of entrees.

Christine knew this wasn't going to be easy; both having to explain to him to stop his attempts at courting her, as well as getting through the meal. Louis, their waiter, arrived in a matter of minutes, opening the bottle of wine that Raoul had ordered, and taking their orders. As they waited, Christine listened as Raoul went on and on about himself, talking about his estate in the south, how long it had been since he had last been there, but how he planned to spend the summer months down there, as well as visit several of his favorite casinos. Christine detested gambling, but even if she attempted to show her displeasure, it wouldn't matter; he was too enamored with himself.

"I am thinking of renovating the eastern wing of my estate, it is far too old fashioned," he muttered. "Middle Eastern décor is all the rage here in Paris, I am speculating of building a mosque-like structure on the grounds…I am told that my gardens rival even the most beautiful here in the city. Perhaps I shall have a garden ball on midsummer's eve…yes, it is time I have a party at my estate, it has been far too long…or instead I could invite a few close friends to stay for a weekend; it has been quite some time since I had a hunting party, and there is a great deal of game on my land; fox, rabbit, deer…I must say, I do like that idea far more, however there is the issue of the dogs, I need some new ones, many of them are just too old. Perhaps my winnings from my casino visits can go to purchasing new ones…"

Christine was so grateful when their food arrived; it meant he would have to pause now and then to chew. Had she simply been invited to be an audience to his endless tirade of himself? She was so surprised when he actually directed a question at her, that she nearly dropped her fork.

"How is you fish?" he asked politely.

Christine smiled back, although it was rather forced. "Very good, thank you. A fine recommendation, monsieur."

"Raoul," he corrected her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "And I am glad you took my advice. I imagine that your advice is coveted by those who are fortunate enough to receive it…" he murmured. Christine glanced up at him to see the gleam in his eyes; it, like his words, it held many meanings.

"Perhaps you can tell me about my opera?" he went on, taking another bite of his steak.

Christine practically choked on the piece of fish that she was swallowing at his words. "I…I beg your pardon?" she asked, reaching for her water glass and taking a long swallow.

"The opera I am endorsing," he clarified, not having missed the way she reacted to his previous words. "I know very little about it, other than that the composer is a mad man," he smiled, before taking another sip of wine. "Please, I would like to know about it from the perspective of a rising star."

Christine blushed at his words, however she frowned when he called Erik a mad man. "Very well," she replied. "It's a beautiful story, really…and a tragic one too," she murmured. "A man by the name of Don Juan falls in love with a young woman by the name Aminta."

"The part that you play," Raoul pointed out.

Christine nodded her head and continued. "Sadly, Don Juan was horribly disfigured in a fire–"

"I thought Don Juan was a great lover, like Casanova?" Raoul interrupted.

Christine ignored his rudeness. "In this opera, little is mentioned of his past. It is eluded that he had many conquests before his accident, but the focus of the story is on his love for Aminta."

"Ah, the tragic love story that is most opera," Raoul muttered, taking another long sip from his wine glass, before taking the bottle and pouring himself some more.

Christine frowned at his actions, but continued. "Aminta is a country girl who does not find Don Juan frightening…she is fascinated by him, as well as moved with pity for how cruel the world has treated him."

Raoul cocked one eyebrow at this. "A country girl? How appropriate that you were cast for the role…"

She ignored him and continued. "The devil tricks Don Juan into selling his soul, promising that he will make Don Juan handsome once more to win Aminta's heart…but only when Don Juan looks through a particular mirror, does he see how he once looked; to the rest of the world he is…he is–"

"A monster," Raoul finished for her.

"No, not a monster!" Christine snapped, surprising them both. Raoul stared at her with question, but Christine adverted her eyes and went on. "Aminta loves Don Juan regardless. But…but there is a horrible mistake…"

Raoul cocked another golden brow at this. "Mistake? Go on…"

"There is a young man who is infatuated with Aminta…and…and Don Juan sees him with her and believes they are lovers, which is false for she loves Don Juan alone."

Raoul's brow furrowed at this.

"Don Juan seeks out the devil and pleads for the power to overthrow his enemies. Don Juan plots to kill both Aminta and the young man he believes to be her lover, and lures the unsuspecting Aminta to his home, where he seduces her with promises of unending pleasure and love…"

Raoul watched as Christine became more and more impassioned with her tale. Her eyes even seemed to be shimmering with unshed tears…

"But all is made well," Christine sighed, taking in a deep breath. "Don Juan realizes that he can not kill his beloved, and Aminta explains everything. With the help of her love, Don Juan is redeemed and wins back his soul. And…the opera ends with the two of them sharing a beautiful love song…" her voice trailed off into a whisper, and she gasped as she felt the tears that had been swelling beneath her lashes finally find release.

Raoul silently handed her his handkerchief, his fingers lightly tapping against his lips as he gazed at her. "Strange," he murmured to himself. "That sounds like a completely different opera…"

Christine looked up at him, seeing the speculation in his eyes. Why did she do that? She inwardly cursed herself for momentarily losing her senses; perhaps it was the wine? She groaned, knowing that it didn't matter how much she drank at dinner, it was no excuse for losing herself in the story of Don Juan and Aminta…the story she and Erik had composed and revised together.

"Now, granted I have not seen every single scene being rehearsed, nor have I read the entire score…but from what I have seen, and what I have read, I recall Aminta having tricked Don Juan, having run away with this young handsome lover of hers, and Don Juan succeeding in killing them both…before killing himself, of course," he quickly summarized.

Christine felt like such a fool, and she despised how the Vicomte, who sat there pretending he knew nothing about the opera, had instead lied and been testing her. "If I had written it," Christine muttered, "that would have been how I would have ended it."

Raoul could not help but chuckle. "Ah, Christine Daae is a romantic, I see," he grinned. "An interesting idea, I must say…an opera with a happy ending–is that truly opera then?" He continued to chuckle as he took another sip of his wine.

Christine was fuming, but instead of losing her temper, or simply allowing him to laugh at her, she lifted her chin and returned his smile with one of her own. "Happy for everyone but the young man," she explained.

Raoul lifted his brows at this. "I beg your pardon?"

Now she grinned, although there was something cold in her smile. "You said how interesting it was, to have an opera with a happy ending. I was merely clarifying that it was a happy ending for everyone but the young man mistaken for Aminta's lover."

The amusement in Raoul's eyes vanished. "Meaning?"

Christine took her own wine glass and lifted it to her lips for a sip. "In my version, monsieur…the young man is the villain. And in all gothic romances, the villain dies."

 

* * *

 

The evening quickly came to a close after Christine's final comment on _Don Juan_. The meal was finished in silence, and now they were both in his carriage once more, being taken to the guest apartment that she and her father presently occupied.

Little was said in the carriage. Christine knew that she still needed to tell the Vicomte that she would not see him further after this evening. In a few days, she and her father would leave the apartment he kept, and find a place of their own. _The sooner the better_ , she thought to herself. Perhaps Madame Giry could help them? She hated falling back on the ballet mistress, feeling as if she were using her, but Christine knew that the most important thing at this moment was to separate herself as best as she could from the Vicomte de Chagny.

"You never told me how you escaped…" Raoul whispered into the shadows of the carriage. Christine was startled by his question, and practically jumped. He looked very strange…sinister even. There was something in the depths of his eyes that gave her cause to tremble. "I am curious, as I know others are," he repeated. "How did you escape the Phantom's lair?"

Christine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, not exactly sure how to respond. It was still strange to her that he knew about her staying with Erik. Well, no one truly knew it the way she did, and perhaps it was for the best. Better that they fear the Phantom than know of Erik's tenderness.

"I…I was kept in a cage," she murmured, remembering the costume cages she had originally been locked in. "And…one evening, after giving me my meal…he had not locked the door properly…and I managed to escape."

She was lying. Not only was her story unconvincing, but her very mannerisms betrayed her. However he chose to not press the matter further, at least not at the moment.

The carriage slowed, and Daniel quickly climbed down to open the door. Raoul exited first, helping Christine out, and walking with her to the door.

It was now or never.

"Thank you for joining me this evening," he elegantly bowed, before taking one of her hands in his and bringing it to his lips.

Christine, however, quickly withdrew her hand, and Raoul found his lips caressing the air instead. He looked up at Christine, his eyes narrowed with confusion. Christine took a deep breath, as well as a step back. "Monsieur, I thank you for all that you have done for my father and I…"

"It was a pleasure," he replied, taking a step towards her.

Christine took another step back. "I fully intend to repay every last bit of money that you spent on our welfare…" There was a strange look in his eyes, one that she could not describe, nor did she wish to dwell upon.

He continued stalking forward. "I told you Christine, that is not necessary, in fact, if you attempt to pay me, I shall refuse it."

Christine's last step brought her back against a stone column near the doors of the building. "You have been most charitable," she practically squeaked. "And…and for aiding my father, I thank you very much–"

"Raoul, Christine…" his voice was a deep whisper, and he was leaning towards her. "My name is Raoul…say my name–"

"Raoul please!" Christine's hands were on his chest and she was pushing him away. He had been too close, his body closing in, his lips descending to hers. Crying out his name and pushing him with all the force she could, had momentarily broken the spell that he had been under, and he stumbled backwards, just catching his balance, his cheeks flushed with obvious embarrassment.

"I…I'm sorry," Christine sighed. "But…this must end, tonight…now."

Raoul stared at her, confusion mixed with irritation, clearly written across his face. "End? What must end Christine? What are you referring to exactly?"

Christine swallowed another nervous lump and lifted her chin. "Any girl would be flattered to be in my place," she sighed. "You're handsome, you're charming, you have high social connections, and of course, you're very rich. But…such attentions should be placed on a woman who…who is worthy of taking your arm and entering such fine places as the Château de Cuisine."

Truth masked as flattery. By enlarging his ego, she hoped she could convince him to leave her be.

Sadly, her words seemed to have had the wrong effect.

Raoul had been staring at her with wide eyes as he listened to his words; for the briefest moment, Christine saw something wild and dangerous in their green depths. However, it had been fleeting, and the harsh set in his jaw relaxed, replaced by a perfect handsome smile.

"Oh my dear Christine," he murmured, reaching out and taking her hand in his. "What must I do to prove that you are worthy of such attention?"

Christine gasped and felt the color drain from her face. "No, Raoul, you don't understand, I–"

"Hush," he whispered, as one of his fingers touched her lips. "There shall be no more talk on this tonight. You are sweet girl, Christine Daae, always thinking of others," he smiled, and before she could remove her hand, planted a soft kiss upon her knuckles. "It may take some time to convince you, but I am more than willing to help you see that you are worthy of being seen on my arm."

Christine couldn't believe what she was hearing. The arrogance of the man! She sadly recalled their dinner conversation and remembered how it was entirely about him, until they reached the subject of the opera. Oh to be condemned to a life of having to feed his ego every few seconds! Of having to fill his ears with praises, even at the cost of ridiculing herself!

Was it possible for hell to be much worse?

"Goodnight, monsieur," Christine snapped, grabbing her skirts and turning on her heel, leaving him to stare after her retreating figure as she slammed the door to the building in his face.

Raoul was momentarily stunned by her actions. He couldn't possibly understand what had upset her? "Most likely she is embarrassed by her feelings of self doubt," he reasoned with himself. After all, that was what had to have been bothering her…right?

Upstairs, Christine burst into the apartment, throwing her coat onto the floor, not caring about anything at the moment, just wanting to retreat to her room where she could be alone with her thoughts.

"Christine?" her father heard her enter and rushed into the parlor. "Are you alright? He didn't do anything he shouldn't have done, did he?"

"No Papa, he was a perfect gentleman," she muttered with disgust. "Most of the time." Her father opened his mouth to ask her more questions, but Christine lifted her hand to indicate that now was not the time. She brushed passed him and went into her room, shutting the door and letting out a frustrated sigh. "Of all the stupid messes I've ever gotten myself into," she groaned. Getting rid of the Vicomte de Chagny was going to be more of a chore than she had intended.

A brush of cold wind blew through Christine's hair. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at the open window at the other end of the room. "Oh no…" she gasped. "No…please, please no…" She flew to the window, her hands gripping the sill as she looked wildly about.

Nothing. Just like the night she thought she saw him standing on the ledge and looking in.

Christine bit her lip and turned to face the room. Had he been there? She would never forgive herself if she had missed him being there. Last night had felt like a dream, but she was so sure that he had been in her room…had he come back?

Then her heart froze as a new horror dawned upon her.

Did he see her with Raoul?

As if to answer her question, Christine's eyes were drawn to something that lay upon her bed. Silent, cold tears dripped down her cheeks as she gazed upon a single red rose, with a small note attached by a black piece of string.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the rose, and carefully, so as not to damage its petals, she untied the note.

The words cut into her heart more than a thousand knives.

"I gave you my music…made your song take wing…and now, how you've repaid me: denied me and betrayed me…"

Christine's tears were already blotting out the remainder of the words. "No…no, not when I just got him back…" she wailed, before crumpling the note in her palm. She rushed to the window and threw her head out into the night. "ERIK!" she screamed. "ERIK, PLEASE!"

Her anguished cries fell on deaf ears, at least on the deaf ears of her intended.

Christine crumpled to the ground, her body trembling from her sobs. She couldn't believe this was happening to her, all over again.

Her worst nightmare was coming true; the tragic tale of _Don Juan Triumphant_ was coming to life.

 

* * *

 

From a safe distance, Rudolph watched as his master descended the building he had mysteriously disappeared into for several hours. He had followed the Master that evening, curious to see what it was that was driving him into the cold night air. He had watched the Master leave several nights ago and then once more last night. Tonight, he decided to follow.

Rudolph had been distant from the others ever since Christine had left. He had never realized how dark and dismal that place was until she left them. He had hoped she would return, but she chose to remain in the world above…although there were some moments he swore he could hear her singing.

Things had gone from bad to worse. The Master rarely spoke to them, although in the brief moments he did see the Master, he did not look as unhappy has he had been. Yet that did not improve the emotions of the others; Suzette never smiled, Gustave always frowned while praying, and Jacque…well, Jacque seemed more miserable than ever before. As for himself…Rudolph had lost all interest in reading ever since he made the discovery about his favorite story.

He sighed and watched as the Master clung to the shadows and began his journey back to the opera house. Whatever had driven the Master out into the cold had not had the happy effect that Rudolph had speculated. He could tell by the way the Master moved that he was upset. Best not to reveal himself, Rudolph silently thought. He too would cling to the shadows and follow the Master home–

But something caught the hunchback's attention; something in the water of the river…

A reflection.

Rudolph glanced up at the object that had been reflected, and he felt his breath escape his lungs at the awesome sight.

Notre Dame Cathedral.

"The p-p-place the h-hunchback lived," he softly breathed to himself. In all his life, he had never thought he would see the place where his story had been set…but there it was, standing proud and tall, its ancient stone filled with stories, and its bells beckoning for him to come closer.

"It's true…" he whispered. "I k-k-know the s-s-story is true…"

Forgetting all about the Master, Rudolph turned in the direction of the majestic cathedral, hope flaring in his heart once more.

 


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the previous night's fiasco, Christine is more than determined to put things right!

_**Resolve** _

Daae gasped with shock as his daughter burst into the bedroom, the bang from the door echoing throughout the apartment. "Christine?" he murmured, sitting up in bed and looking to his daughter for answers, but she gave none, she simply marched over his window and threw open the curtains.

It was barely dawn.

"Christine, what is going on? Are you all right? Answer me, please!"

She finally turned to her father, a determined look upon her face. "I must go. I just wanted to let you know should you awake and not find me here."

Her father was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "G-go? What are you talking about? Go where?"

"The opera house," she simply replied, before turning and leaving the room.

Daae stared after his daughter with puzzlement. He had never seen her in such a state. She looked as if she were ready to go into battle and face a great foe, like Goliath. He quickly got out of bed and began to dress at once. As soon as he had pulled his shoes on, he exited the room to find Christine by the door, buttoning her coat.

"What is this all about?" he asked, his tone both worrisome as well as sleepy.

Marguerite suddenly appeared, a shawl wrapped tightly around her nightgown. "Monsieur? Mademoiselle? Is something wrong?"

"Everything is fine Marguerite," Christine softly explained to the pretty maid. "And I really must be going, I can not waste any more time," she explained to her father, turning to leave, but Daae caught her arm and whirled her around to face him once more.

"Christine, so help me, you will answer my questions!" he nearly shouted. "The sun has barely risen child, what do you mean, having to go the opera house?" He paused and softened his voice. "Is this…is this about last night?"

Christine was looking down at her feet. At her father's question she glanced up at him and then briefly at the maid who was practically leaning in to hear every last word.

Her father quickly understood. "Thank you Marguerite, you may go back to bed."

The pretty redhead jumped as she realized she had been caught and was being dismissed. She gave a small curtsy and then quickly turned and left the two of them in peace.

"Now," he sighed, turning to face his daughter once more. "Will you please explain what is going on?"

Christine groaned and then threw her hands up in the air out of exasperation. "Oh Papa, everything went wrong!" she wailed, collapsing onto one of the couches in the parlor and burying her face in her hands.

Daae's face paled with concern. "But I thought you said he didn't…" his stomach churned at the horrible idea. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

Christine shook her head. "No, no, other than kissing my hand and helping me out of the carriage, he did nothing of the sort…but…I'm such a fool," she whispered, her voice dripping with self-hatred. "I felt so sure with what I was doing; I thought that I could explain to him to stop his attempts…" her voice trailed off and she slumped further on the couch.

Daae bit his lip and tenderly rubbed his daughter's shoulders. "I shouldn't have let you go in the first place. As your father, I should have spoken with him, it was my responsibility, and I encouraged him–"

"No, Papa," she sighed. "It wouldn't have mattered. I see that now only the plainest, and bluntest language, will work to convince him."

Her father's face softened with sympathy. "What did you say to him exactly?"

Christine groaned as the memories came back. "I thought that by inflating his already over-sized ego, I could successfully convince him that I was a waste of his time. I told him that I was wrong for him, that a man of his station should place all his attentions on a woman who is worthy to be seen and interact in his stylish aristocratic world."

A small smile appeared on her father's lips. "Oh Christine, but you are worthy. In truth, it is people like him who are unworthy to be seen with you."

Christine couldn't help but smile softly at her father's compliment. "Thank you, Papa," she whispered. "But it was all in vain. My plan backfired; instead of bruising his arrogance by attempting to show him that I was an embarrassment to his title, he tried to 'ease my worries' by telling me that I was worthy enough to seen with him, and then he complimented me on always thinking of others, more or less 'forgiving me' for being of inferior birth."

Daae sighed and wrapped his arms around his daughter's shoulders. "Oh my dear," he whispered into her hair. "I truly do not know what it was that I saw in him. I was blinded by his charm and manners, but I see now that he would have made a very poor son-in-law."

Christine couldn't help but chuckle at his words.

"But what does this have to do with you traveling to the opera house so early?"

Christine bit her lip. How did one explain that the man, who the rest of the world saw as villainous, was the man that had captured her heart? "I…I can't explain that right now," she murmured, "but I will…soon…but right now I must go, for I have already wasted more time than I should!"

Daae watched with confusion as his daughter rose from the couch. "Wait!" he called after her, grabbing his own coat and hurrying out the door after her. "I may not know what has gotten into you this morning, or what exactly is going on, but I will not allow you travel alone!"

Christine said nothing; she obediently waited for her father to catch up, but walked very briskly down the wet cobble-stoned streets. She was so exhausted after last night, that she cried herself to sleep after reading Erik's hateful note. Had she not fallen asleep, she would have stormed the opera house walls until she found him.

Hopefully there was still time to do that this morning.

She hastened her steps as her mind reeled with questions. Why didn't she consider the possibility of him seeing her leave the opera house with the Vicomte? After all, everyone else saw it. Oh what the gossip would be like that day…

"Hang the gossip," she muttered to herself. The only thing that mattered was putting things right with Erik. "He loves me…I know he does!" It had to be true, she felt so sure of it! Someone who did not have love in their heart for another would not have bothered to leave such a note. She knew now that his reasons for sending her away in the first place had to do with her father, there could be no other answer. And while his words were vile and filled with such hatred…she knew deep within her heart that they were not true.

"No more lies, no more pretenses," Christine softly vowed. She would demand the truth as well as tell it. She shuttered to think how horrible it must have looked if he had seen her with Raoul on the front steps outside the apartment. She had only just stopped him from kissing her! Of all the stupid ideas! She would make it quite plain the next time she saw the Vicomte that she was not a candidate to be one of his paramours.

"Don't know what good this will do," her father grumbled as he hurried to keep up with her. "The opera house will surely be locked up."

"The stagehands will be there," Christine answered back. "And Madame Giry always arrives before dawn."

Her father muttered something, but it was inaudible. Christine glanced over her shoulder at the red-faced man who was desperately trying to keep up. "No more lies," she whispered once more to herself. Christine made a solemn vow that before the day was over…she would reveal everything at last to her father. She owed him that much.

 

* * *

 

The faintest of the sun's rays wove through the cracks in the cavern ceiling just over the lagoon. Erik, standing straight and tall, his black cloak wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, watched as the rays gently played across the water.

What a fool he had been.

He had no one to blame but himself, he knew that deep down, yet still…of all the people in this world…and after she knew the sort of person _he_ was!

He closed his eyes, feeling his jaw tighten at the memories of watching her leave the opera house on _his_ arm. It couldn't be true! He watched from the roof as she was escorted into the Vicomte's carriage, before flying to the cellars to retrieve his own black carriage to silently follow. He saw them disappear into an elegant restaurant, and he waited several hours at the end of the street until he saw them once more emerge. He began following them again, until it was clear to him where they were going. He left the carriage a few streets away, before continuing his journey on foot, traveling through the shadows and climbing buildings, until he reached the rooftop of the building at which they stood before.

He remembered cracking the stone gargoyle with his own hand as he saw the Vicomte advance upon her. And then, to his great horror, he watched as the man bent his head to Christine's beautiful face…

He could not bear to see more.

Pure fire ran through his veins. He descended through the window into her bedchamber, placing the red rose he had brought, upon her pillow. He had originally planned to come to her again that night, but to stay…to stay until she realized that she wasn't dreaming, and to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness for how he had treated her before.

But it was too late.

His romantic gestures had not been enough to heal the wounds on her heart by his horrific words, and could he blame her? She probably assumed he was toying with her, purposefully confusing her, telling her to leave when in truth...he wanted her more than ever before.

He had driven her into the arms of his greatest enemy.

In a moment of heartbreak and anger, he wrote her the letter and tied it to the rose. He wanted her to feel his pain, for her to know the betrayal that he felt.

It was only later, after he abandoned her room and arrived at the opera house, that he realized it was truly his own fault. He returned the horses and hid the carriage, before descending to his lair. Lord help him, how was he going to get through another day of those blasted rehearsals? What was once his pride and joy had now become something he loathed more than anything; how he despised this opera.

It was pure torture, hearing her beautiful angelic voice reverberate throughout the whole opera house, being so close to her, and yet not being able to reach out and touch her. And now this on top of everything else; oh how wished for death to free him.

"Master?"

Erik turned his head to the sound of the small voice that came from the entrance to the lagoon's cavern. Suzette stood there, a shawl wrapped tightly about her small body, her face etched with worry.

"I wish to be alone now," he softly commanded.

"I understand that Master, but…please, this is of great importance."

He glanced at her once more and saw how deeply distressed she looked. His heart, which he thought had turned to stone after enduring what he saw the previous night, melted at the sight of the tiny woman who had truly been the closest thing to a mother in his life. He sighed and softly approached her, lowering himself until his eyes were level with hers. "What troubles you Suzette?"

Her fingers tugged on the ends of her shawl. "It's Rudolph…I…I haven't seen him since yesterday and I have this…this terrible worry…" she choked back a sob that threatened to escape her throat. "I fear for his life!"

Erik reached out and took one of Suzette's hands in his. "I'm sure he is fine," he reassured. "He is most likely in one of the far northern caverns, keeping to himself. He seems to be doing that more lately," he softly added.

Suzette's brow furrowed. "You're a one to talk," she muttered.

Erik ignored her comment. "Do not worry yourself Suzette; he will reveal himself when he is ready."

But the tiny woman could not be consoled. "No Master, this is different from those other times!" she wailed. "I…I don't know how to describe it, but…I feel something deep in my bones! Something is not right, something…" she bit her lip to keep herself from going into hysterics. "I fear for his life!"

Erik's brow furrowed at her words. "His life? You believe him to be in danger?"

She nodded her head. "Ever since…" she glanced up at Erik and saw the way his jaw clenched. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "Ever since...she left…Rudolph has retreated into complete solitude. He doesn't read anymore, he barely touches his food, and there are many mornings when I awake to see that he has not slept in his bed. But…but this is different from those other times. He…he recently learned that…that I had been lying about his favorite story…"

Erik arched a brow at this. " _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_?"

Suzette sadly nodded her head. "He hasn't spoken to me since. I had hoped that Gustave…or even Jacque, could perhaps talk to him, but they have not had any success either…and they are preoccupied with their own problems," she whispered.

Erik softly cursed to himself. He had been blind to all that was going on around him–mainly because he chose to be so. His own selfishness had kept him from seeing the distress of those he had sworn to protect, and now, something could seriously be wrong. He wanted to convince Suzette that Rudolph was fine, but even he was having serious doubts.

"Find Gustave and Jacque and have them begin searching the southern and western corners of the labyrinth. You take the eastern tunnels, and I will search the northern caverns, as well as the catacombs."

Suzette let out a sigh of relief and squeezed Erik's hands tightly. "Thank you Master, thank you so much!"

"Do not thank me until we find him," he muttered, but he gave the tiny woman a reassuring smile, before squeezing her own hands in return.

Suzette quickly picked up her skirts and scurried away to find the others to help them in her search. Erik glanced one last time at the lagoon before turning to leave himself. The opera would have to wait; besides, he welcomed a distraction from it.

 

* * *

 

"Damn it!" Christine cursed as her attempts with opening the hidden door behind the mirror in her dressing room failed once more. There had to be a trigger somewhere! Surely if Erik used the mirror to get to the dressing room, there had to be some way to go back as well.

Her fingers were red, raw, and blistered from all the pulling and prying. She refused to cry, but the frustration was so great that it took every nerve to not let any tears be shed. She gazed at the mirror with both longing and irritation. "Perhaps if I break the glass…" she whispered to herself. Her eyes narrowed at the idea; surely that would be too easy? If anyone broke the glass, then they would be able to get through…but it was the only option she had left.

Upon first arriving at the opera house, Christine went immediately into the auditorium, going directly to the trap door that was backstage, the same door that she took so many months ago that led her to the Phantom's lair.

It was bolted shut.

A stagehand, who saw her trying to force the door open, stopped her. "Won't do no good," he muttered. "And a pretty thing like you don't want to go down there, believe me."

She ignored the man's words, but stood up to face him, wiping the sweat from her brow. "This used to be open before, why can't it open now?"

The stagehand shrugged. "S'pose the Phantom had his fill of trespassers," he mumbled. "Been bolted for weeks now, all the secret doors," he waved his hand around the auditorium. "Just as well if you ask me; only askin' for trouble if you go down there."

All the passages were bolted.

It made no sense. Surely Erik continued to freely travel throughout the opera house–perhaps there were passages that the stagehands didn't know about? She tried to remember all that Erik had shown her in the time she was with him. Sadly, she knew all those secret doorways from the other side; she would have no idea where to begin looking for them now. The only door she could think that the stagehands didn't know about was the mirror in her dressing room. It had to be a door, she was sure of it! She felt his presence so clearly through it, and what other reason could explain the sudden appearance of all those roses? So without a second thought, she picked up her skirts and fled to her dressing room, eager to tear open the mirror and find her masked love.

But the project had been harder than she had anticipated.

Christine pushed back several damp curls that had fallen across her forehead, a weary, but determined sigh escaping her lips. So help her, she was going to find him and put everything to right!

With a deep breath, she picked up the wooden cushioned stool that sat by the dressing table, prepared to fling the piece of furniture at the mirror with all her might. "I'd rather have seven years of bad luck than a life without Erik," she hissed to the air. With one last breath, she gave out a battle cry, charging at the mirror with the stool–

"CHRISTINE!"

The sound of her name being squealed startled her so, that Christine lost her balance and tumbled forward, going directly over the stool.

"Oh! Oh Christine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!"

Christine groaned with embarrassment, frustration, and a little pain, as she pushed the cursed stool away from her. She glanced up to see Meg Giry rushing towards her to help her stand. "Are you alright? Oh I pray nothing is broken or sprained…good God Christine, what were you doing?"

Christine forced a smile upon her lips and winced slightly as Meg helped her stand, her knees feeling the worse for wear. "Rehearsing," she mumbled. "A scene from Act II."

Meg seemed satisfied with this answer and pressed nothing further. However, the eager expression on her pretty face caused Christine to tremble with slight worry. She had a bad feeling about this…

"Well?" Meg giggled, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Christine tried to smile back, but she was so confused. "Well…?"

Meg rolled her eyes but let out another giggle. "Oh don't be modest Christine, we all know!"

Christine felt the color drain from her face. "K-k-know what?"

Meg groaned, but reached out to grab Christine's hand. "ABOUT YOUR ENGAGEMENT OF COURSE!"

Christine thought her heart would stop beating. She couldn't believe what she was hearing! However, before she could begin to question Meg on where she had learned this news, a mass of giggles erupted from the hallway, and over a dozen ballet girls scrambled inside the dressing room, each grinning and giggling and demanding to see Christine's engagement ring.

"Knew the Vicomte liked you…saw how he looked at you ever since the day you came here!" one girl practically shouted.

"I'm so jealous! What is your secret Christine? How can I land a rich husband?"

"Never thought the Vicomte would settle down, but then you go and snatch him up! How did you do it Christine?"

Her head was spinning with all the questions and the giggling faces that surrounded her. This couldn't be happening…of all the misunderstandings in the entire world…

"GIRLS!"

Madame Giry's bark echoed off the dressing room walls. All smiles disappeared as a deadly silence filled the room.

The ballet mistress stood in the doorway, her scowl darker than the black gown that she wore. "You should be on stage rehearsing!" she hissed. "You dance for one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the whole world! And here you are, acting like insolent children who are unworthy to dance on that stage!" She moved away from the door and pointed one long finger in the direction of the stage. "Everyone leave at once and begin practice immediately!"

Without another word or glance, the girls quickly filed out of the dressing room in the direction Madame Giry was pointing. Meg bit her lip and whispered "sorry" to Christine, before hurrying out with the others. "Sorry Mama," she murmured as she past her mother. Madame Giry said nothing; her eyes were now focused entirely on the pretty brunette.

Christine felt like a bug being examined in a jar under Madame Giry's scrupulous gaze. She was still trembling with shock at the news she had just received from the ballet. Engagement! She couldn't believe her misfortune.

"I suppose I should congratulate you," Madame Giry muttered. "Although you must forgive me if I struggle with doing so; after all, he is not a man worthy of you, but I suppose a handsome face, a great estate, and a hefty allowance make up for everything else–"

"I'm not engaged!" Christine practically shrieked with anguish. "I…I don't know where you heard this from but…but it's not true!" She crumpled to the floor, exhausted and upset, the tears that she refused to shed earlier now flowing freely.

The ballet mistress continued to keep her calm cool manner, but a great weight was lifted off her shoulders at Christine's declaration. "But…we all saw you leave with him; you took his arm and left in his carriage. Also, it is very well known, not just here, but throughout Paris, that you are staying in his guest apartment. With all the gossip that has been traveling around, an engagement can only be assumed; in some ways it puts you in a better light than before…"

Christine wiped her eyes and looked up at Madame Giry with confusion. "Better light? What…what do you mean?"

Madame Giry sighed and reached out to help Christine to her feet. "Come now Christine…a girl of your station? An actress? Staying in a place that all society knows belongs to the Vicomte de Chagny? What do you think people were thinking?"

She always knew that her association with Raoul would hurt her more than help her…but she had assumed that the rumors would stay at the opera house and amongst the company…she never thought that they would spread further. But after last night, appearing with him at the restaurant, and leaving with him in his carriage…

"I can't believe how stupid I've become," Christine groaned. "I always thought myself a good judge of character, and a person of sense…I…I thought that such rumors would be squashed since I was with my father, or…or…oh God above, help me," she sighed, her face falling upon Madame Giry's shoulder, her arms wrapping around the ballet mistress as new tears sprang forth.

Madame Giry sighed and hugged Christine back, whispering soothing words into her dark hair. "So he did not propose to you?" she asked, lifting Christine's face and gazing into her eyes.

Christine shook her head. "If he had, I'm sure he's the sort of person who would tell every last newspaper in all of France, paying them to put the story on the front page."

"Yes, you are right about that," Madame Giry murmured. "But…but Meg said she saw you wearing a ring?"

Christine's eyes widened with shock.

The ring Erik had given to her.

She remembered how Meg demanded to look at her hand when she burst into the room, quickly followed by several of ballet girls all wanting a peak. Christine had only worn it briefly the day before, after she came into the dressing room and tried for the first time to get through the mirror. But later, when she returned for rehearsals, she hid the ring once more in her pocket and had not worn it since. She didn't think anyone had seen her wear it, she was sure of it!

Carlotta.

Christine let out a shaky breath as she remembered Carlotta being with her at the time she was wearing it. And then she remembered Carlotta's eyes, which were already glimmering with hatred, falling upon her hands.

Carlotta had seen the ring and must have started the rumors. And her leaving with Raoul only added fuel to the prima donna's vengeful fire.

"Madame Giry, I need your help," Christine whispered. "The only reason I left with Raoul was because my father promised at the time, that I would have dinner with him. But my father now realizes that the Vicomte is not the sort of man one can trust, and further, I tried to tell him that I could not

be seen with him anymore, but…it didn't work…" she mumbled, remembering the disaster that was the night before.

Madame Giry's eyes narrowed at Christine's words. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Oh no!" Christine quickly reassured. "But…I realize now that I will have to be extremely blunt when I next see him…and I know that when that time comes, my father and I can not be at that apartment. Please…can you help us find another place to stay?"

Madame Giry's eyes softened at the young woman's request. "Of course…and you know that you and your father are welcome to stay with Meg and myself if need be?"

Christine nodded her head, although she hated being a burden to the woman. "Thank you," she whispered. "And the sooner, the better."

Madame Giry nodded her head. "Start packing your things tonight. Tomorrow you can stay with us, and then we will go about finding you both your own place."

Christine let out a great sigh of relief. Being away from Raoul made her feel so much better; but there was still the matter of telling Erik the truth.

"Madame Giry…I…I know that…that you have connections with…" her eyes glanced towards the mirror, and Madame Giry's gaze quickly followed.

The ballet mistress stiffened at Christine's words, but softly nodded her head. After all, she had revealed to Christine on that snowy night not so long ago that she was Erik's liaison with the outside world.

"Tell me how I can get down there, to his realm, please! I must speak with him, it's of urgent importance!"

Madame Giry was entirely caught off guard by Christine's words. "S-s-speak to him?" she stammered, her calm collective appearance momentarily shaken.

Christine nodded her head. "Yes, there's been a terrible misunderstanding, and I need to tell him the truth. Especially now with…with this horrid news circulating." What she wouldn't give to throw her fist into Carlotta's over-made face. "I've been trying for the last hour to get through the mirror, I know it's a door! But I can't find the mechanism to open it…please…do you know a way inside?"

Madame Giry couldn't believe what she was hearing. Someone actually wanting to get into the Phantom's lair and find the Phantom himself! "Christine…why…why would you…" she shook her head, so many different things running through her mind. "Christine, he kidnapped your father! And he took you prisoner! I…I thought you despised him!" Had she been wrong? She knew Erik claimed to be in love with the girl…but was it possible that Christine loved him as well?

Christine took a deep breath and looked directly into the woman's eyes. "I did once…twice actually," she whispered, recalling what she first thought of him when he took her prisoner, as well as when he told her to leave. "But…in my heart, I…I feel, no, I know that he loves me…still, and…and I still love him."

Madame Giry's pale face only grew whiter at the words. In all her life, she never thought it was possible; Erik felt love, pure, selfless love for another woman. And perhaps even more miraculous was that someone else loved him just as fiercely.

"You and Erik…you…you…"

"Yes," Christine whispered, nodding her head without shame or hesitation.

Madame Giry swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back the tears she could feel stinging her eyes. "You love him?" she asked, her voice filled with surprise.

"Very much," Christine whispered with great sincerity.

"But…but he is so much older…"

Christine smiled softly. "He is practically 20 years older than me, but I would not label a man of 38 as 'old'. Besides, I am nearly 21...in society's eyes I'm an old maid; not exactly a green girl from the schoolroom."

"Fine, but…but he…" Madame Giry hated herself for doing this. "His face my dear…have you seen it?"

Christine locked her eyes with the ballet mistress before nodding her head. "His face holds no horror for me. I will always see him as handsome, no matter what the world sees."

Madame Giry was in complete awe. "I never thought I would live to know a day where…where Erik felt love, as well as receive it."

Christine grinned and blinked back the happy tears that shimmered in her eyes. "Nor I," she grinned. "I love him Madame Giry, I love him and he loves me, I just know it, I feel it!"

Madame Giry's brow furrowed at Christine's words. "Has Erik not told you of his feelings?"

Christine shook her head. "No, I mean…yes, he has told me that he loves me, but…" she closed her eyes and groaned sadly. "Before he released me, he…he told me that it had all been pretense, that he was only using me for his own carnal desires."

Madame Giry stiffened at the girl's words. "Did he hurt you?" she whispered.

"Oh no!" Christine defended. "No, I…it made no sense, what he was saying. Because when we…" she blushed deeply and saw the knowing look in the ballet mistress' eyes. "He was always gentle…and he took great care when he held me in his arms," she closed her eyes briefly at the beautiful memories. "And he would tell, as well as show, how deeply he loved me," she whispered. "But then, one night, he told me he was finished with me, that he no longer desired my 'services', and then…" she turned away from Madame Giry and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "And then he told me that he knew where my father was being kept, that he had known all along–"

"That's not true!"

Christine turned her head to look at the ballet mistress, her eyes filled with confusion as well as growing hope. "W-w-what?"

Madame Giry reached out and took one of Christine's hands in hers. "That night, the night you were released from Erik's imprisonment, the night you came to me…was the same night he learned about where your father was."

Christine's eyes widened with shock. "But…but…how do you–"

"I told him," she whispered. "He had sent Jacque in search of your father's whereabouts, and he and I crossed paths. I helped Jacque back to the opera house, and revealed the news to Erik," she looked down at her feet and felt a sudden wash of shame come over her. "I…I learned that night that Erik was keeping you with him. Why else would he send someone in search of your father? I confronted him, telling him that it wasn't right, keeping you there, believing that he…that he was being selfish, that he was keeping you as one keeps a caged bird, locked in a cage and being fed to sing for his pleasure. But I never knew that you both…that you both had grown such an attachment to one another…"

Christine couldn't believe what she was hearing. She remembered how there was that tiny voice inside her that never truly believed the harsh words that he said, which told her constantly it was all a lie. "He said those things…to make me leave, so that I could find my father, and help him," she whispered with realization. A part of her always suspected it…but now she knew.

Madame Giry nodded her head. "I believe you are right," she smiled softly, but then a frown clouded her face. "But I have not spoken to him since that night. He will not see me; he will not have anything to do with me, or the outside world. Ever since the night you left, many of his passages have been–"

"Bolted, I know," Christine murmured. "And the mirror?" she asked, hope flaring in her heart.

Madame Giry shook her head. "Erik doesn't think I know this, but yes, it is a door…but sadly, I do not know how it works. I would not be surprised if it can only be opened one way, from the inside. Many of his secret doors are like that," she explained.

"No," Christine whispered, a fierce fire of determination rising within her. "I have felt his presence with me in this room. And just yesterday, I came in here and there were all these roses…I know there must be a way inside!" she looked down at the stool and quickly picked it up. "Perhaps by breaking the glass–"

Madame Giry's hands took hold of the stool. "You shatter the glass, you find nothing but the wall itself. It is not the mirror, it is what's behind the mirror. The mirror is not the door; it is the cover of the door. It's complicated, I know, but…trust me on this. If you truly wish to get a message to him, but fear he will not see you, then…the only solution I have is to write him a letter."

Christine stared blankly at the woman. "Write him a letter?"

"Yes," Madame Giry replied, as if it were obvious. "Write him a letter, seal it, and then leave it in Box 5."

Christine's eyes widened. "But isn't that the Vicomte's box?"

"Yes, but Erik has lain claim to it for far longer," Madame Giry simply answered. "If he ever makes any requests, he always leaves instructions to leave a note in Box 5."

Christine nodded her head, seeing the sense in that, but would Erik find the note if he were not expecting it? Or did he always check Box 5, no matter what? She had so many questions, and there was so much information for her to grasp. Her note would be simple, and she prayed he would answer it.

She needed to see him. She needed to hear from his own lips that all those things he had said were simply his way of getting her to leave to be with her father. She needed to hear him tell her what Madame Giry had revealed about the knowledge of her father, and more than anything, she needed to know if it was possible for him to still love her? And just as important…she needed to tell him that she still loved him with all her heart.

"I must go and deliver my message," she said with determination. "Thank you, Madame Giry, thank you for everything." She gave the ballet mistress a grateful smile and turned to leave, but gasped when she felt the woman's cold hand grip her arm.

"Just one more thing, my dear," Madame Giry murmured, releasing Christine's arm. "How…how are you feeling?"

Christine looked at her with confused eyes. "How am I feeling?"

"Yes," Madame Giry pressed. "I know that you have been feeling lightheaded and nauseous recently. I was simply curious to know if you have been feeling any better, or if your symptoms persist?"

"Oh," Christine said, somewhat surprised by the question. "I am feeling much better, thank you, I think that day of rest has done me some good," she smiled, but felt it fade away at the stone expression on the woman's face. "I…I do now and then feel nauseous, but I have been able to keep my food down for the most part."

Madame Giry looked at the girl closely and then nodded her head. "Go write your letter. I will take it to Box 5 for you, as I'm sure you are wanted on stage by now."

Christine nodded her head and quickly left the dressing room, hoping that she could manage to pen a few lines before Monsieur Gerard or the managers lost their patience. She passed several chorus members in the halls, many of whom were whispering at the sight of her. A few stepped forward to wish her congratulations, to which Christine rolled her eyes and pushed past them. She caught Carlotta's eye from backstage, and Christine felt her blood boil with anger at the sight of the blonde soprano who was also sending her a similar deadly glare. She felt her fists tighten with anger, and more than anything, Christine wanted to go over to the prima donna and tear out her hair.

But all vengeful thoughts, all urgent hastiness to write her letter to Erik, vanished as she overheard several stagehands in conversation.

"Did you hear about what happened at Notre Dame?"

"No, what are you talking about?"

"Seems that the cathedral does have its own hunchback!"

"What are you saying?"

"Some poor friar was scared out of his wits early this mornin'. Went to go and ring the bells for morning vespers, and found a monster in the bell tower!"

"You're serious? There was an actual hunchback in the bell tower?"

"Go outside and hear for yourself! It's all anyone's talkin' about on the street!"

"What did they do with the creature?"

"What do you think they did? Arrested him of course! Can't let some monster run around Notre Dame, can you? What a stupid question," the stagehand muttered.

"MADEMOISELLE DAAE!" Monsieur Gerard's exasperated roar filled the auditorium and the far corners backstage.

Soon, grumbling with irritation, Firmin and Andre emerged behind the curtains, their faces set with deep scowls. "Where is Christine Daae?" Firmin demanded. "She was due on stage 15 minutes ago, and no one can find her! She's not in her dressing room–"

"You mean that pretty brown-haired girl who's been singing lead soprano?" a stagehand asked.

The managers rolled their eyes in annoyance. "YES!"

"She was just standing here," the stagehand calmly explained. "Then but a second later, she was off and running," he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Funny…never seen a girl run that fast. Wonder what caused her to leave?"

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those that didn't know the truth of what happened beneath the Paris Opera House...the truth slowly begins to unfold...

_**Enlightenment** _

Raoul was in a good mood.

The night before, while it had some rocky moments, had been a success. True, he had not been able to seduce her, and his body was aching for release, but he simply continued to remind himself that the fortune that would be left entirely to Christine when the Marquis Clamont died, was practically in his grasp.

Raoul smiled as the carriage came to a stop outside the police station. Today he would learn the whole truth about the infamous Phantom; he would find the records on the last case that the police investigated at the Paris Opera House, and finally have enough proof for LeDue and his men to help him with setting a trap to catching the Opera Ghost.

Yes, everything was going so well.

"Monsters! Freaks! Creatures that you only thought existed in nightmares! Come see them all at the Ronaldi Carnival!"

Raoul glanced at the boy who stood in front of the police station, passing out various flyers, a poster tied to his small shoulders as he shouted his advertisements up and down the streets.

"Mornin' monsieur!" the boy greeted, stuffing a flyer into Raoul's hand. "Come to the Ronaldi Carnival, only in Paris this week! Five franks is all you need to see all the ghouls and freaks you can imagine!"

Raoul crumpled the flyer with disgust. "Five franks for a freak show? Highway robbery," he muttered, pushing past the boy. "Go sell your wares further down the street."

The boy glared up at the Vicomte and spat on the ground before him, before turning and running down the street before Raoul decided to call the police after him.

"Stupid gypsies and their carnivals," he muttered to his coachman. "The sooner they leave Paris, the better." Without a second glance at where the boy had gone, Raoul entered the police station, his eyes lit with satisfaction as the young officer to whom he had spoken to the day before, stood at the counter.

"Oh! Good morning, monsieur!" the officer greeted. "I searched the records as you requested, and I found three cases."

Raoul cocked a golden brow at this. "Really?" he pulled his wallet out from his coat and began to count the money he had inside. "And what manner of investigations were these?"

The officer eyed the wallet and licked his lips. "Two murder, one kidnapping," he explained. "The first murder investigation took place about twenty years ago…I say murder because that was what they called it at the time, but it's long since been understood as a horrific accident."

"Really?" Raoul asked, pretending to be surprised. "What happened?"

"Well, turns out that the man, a stagehand, was so drunk, that he fell from the catwalk high above, during a performance, and got caught in the ropes, thus hanging himself–"

The conversation was lost when the door to the station burst open and Christine came rushing in, her face red and her breathing coming in quick gasps. Raoul stared at her, completely shocked to see her there, and without another word, grabbed the records that the officer had been explaining to him, and stuffed them inside his coat. "Christine?"

She looked right past him at the officer standing by the counter. "Where is he?"

The officer stared at her blankly. "Beg your pardon, mademoiselle, but–"

"THE HUNCHBACK!" she practically shouted. "WHERE IS HE?"

Both the officer and Raoul jumped slightly at her tone. Raoul took a deep breath and reached out to touch her shoulder. "Christine, calm down, what are you talking about exactly–"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" she snapped, before pushing her way past the stunned Vicomte, her fists pounding on top of the counter. "Take me to him!"

The officer was actually trembling before her. "Mademoiselle, I…I can't–hey! You can't go back there!" he shouted, but Christine ignored him, dashing around the counter and going through the back door that she was sure led to the prison cells.

Raoul stared in surprise as Christine pushed the young officer away from her, actually causing him to fall over from the force, before disappearing through the door. Without a second thought, he quickly followed, curious to what had driven her to this point of madness.

On the other side of the door was a long hallway with various offices. At the end, Christine saw a barred door. That was the door she needed.

There were few officers in the station; after all, it was early morning and many of them were no doubt on their first rounds for the day. The ones that she did see stared at her in stunned silence, before attempting to stop her from going further.

Christine ignored their protests, and attempted to dart out of their grasp. Two officers grabbed hold of her shoulders and began pushing her back, away from the hall that would lead to the prison cells, but Raoul's thunderous shout caused them to cease. "She's with me!" he barked, pushing the men away from her. He hoped to find her smiling up at him with gratitude, but instead, she continued on her journey, pushing through the door that led to the room where the prison cells were kept.

Christine thought she would choke on the stench that filled the room.

Was this the sort of place her father had been dejected to for all those months? She couldn't believe how horrible it was!

The walls and floors were absolute filth, and everywhere, she saw creeping insects as well as a few fat rats dart in and out of the cells. It was very cold, and the blankets that the prisoners had been given looked to be made of the cheapest cotton. And no one could escape the stench of vomit and urine. She had to get Rudolph out of here!

Several prisoners whistled at her as she past, but most of them stared in curious silence. The same men made comments as the Vicomte passed, whistling at his fancy boots and expensive coat. Raoul growled at their crudeness, wishing he could ignore them as easily as Christine had.

A small cluster of officers stood near a cell at the end of the hall. Christine could hear them laughing and ridiculing the prisoner inside, throwing pieces of garbage at the poor creature, and then she heard one of the most painful, heartbreaking sounds in her life; Rudolph's sob of fear and despair.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" she shouted at the officers, running to the end of the hall and pushing her way past them.

The men were shocked at the sight of her standing there, and even more shocked that she was defending the monster inside the cell. "You should be ashamed of yourselves!" she snapped. "YOU'RE THE MONSTERS, YOU BASTARDS!" she saw a tin can on the ground, a remnant of the garbage they had been throwing, and picked it up and hurled it at them, shouting curses to their shocked faces.

"CHRISTINE!" Raoul bellowed, rushing to her side and quickly grabbing hold of her. She was ready to launch herself at the officers and, if given half the chance, gouge their eyes out. "Calm down!" he hissed at her. "You won't be able to help your friend if you don't calm down!"

Christine knew he was right, and Rudolph was all that mattered at this point. She wriggled herself free from Raoul's hold, and turned to face the poor hunchback, who was huddled in the corner, his massive body curled up into a ball.

"Rudolph? Rudolph, it's me…it's Christine," she whispered, falling to her knees and tapping on the prison bars to get his attention.

Slowly, the hunchback turned his large head in the direction of her voice, and Christine thought her heart would break into a thousand pieces at the pain and fear that she saw in his eyes.

One whole side of his face was bruised, and there was a deep cut on his brow, which still trickled blood. Rage fueled through her; what had those bastards done to him? "Rudolph, it's me, it's Christine," she murmured. "I'm here, I won't let any harm come to you."

Raoul gasped in horror at the sight of the creature, especially as he turned to fully face them. This was what Christine had come to rescue?

Rudolph's soft eyes, which were red and puffy from crying, lit up at the sight of Christine's face. "C-c-c-christine?" he stammered.

"Get away from there, mademoiselle!" one of the officers shouted. "He's a dangerous monster!"

She ignored their words and smiled back at Rudolph. "Yes, yes, it's me," she grinned. "I'm here to help you; I'm going to get you out of here." She held her hand out to him, and Rudolph crawled across the grime covered floor to where she stood, his own hands outstretched to touch hers.

"Mademoiselle! Did you hear what I said? Get away–"

"He's not a threat to me or to anyone!" she shouted at the officer. She turned her attentions back to the hunchback and smiled as Rudolph's large hands tenderly grasped hers.

"I…I h-h-hoped you would come," he whispered softly, a smile spreading over his tear-stained face.

Raoul couldn't get over the shock of the whole scene. She knew this creature? But even more surprising was the fact that…it knew her!

"Everything will be alright, I promise," Christine reassured, giving his hands a tender squeeze, before rising to her full height. "Get him out of this thing!" Christine ordered, turning on her feet to face the officer who was closest.

The man stared back at her, hardly believing what he was hearing. "W-w-what?"

"I said," Christine began again, yet now she spoke through clenched teeth. "Get…him…out…of…this…thing."

Raoul glanced once more at the creature inside the cage. It was twice the size of most men, with a saggy distorted face, and large ape-like arms. It was a monster! "Christine, I'm not sure that is wise," Raoul protested. "Look at him! He'll crush you–"

"HE'S NOT A DANGER!" Christine shouted, before turning to the officers once more. "But I will be, if you don't release him NOW!"

"Mademoiselle," one officer sighed. "We can't just release him; prisoners must be paid for to be released, and who will pay for this–"

"I think over 300 franks in gold will be enough, don't you?" Christine muttered, removing the bag of money that Erik had given her all those weeks ago from inside her coat.

All the men, including Raoul, stared at the bag of money that Christine produced.

"A-a-ample amount, mademoiselle," the officer murmured, before snatching the money from her hands and producing a set of keys from his belt. "Now stand back, who knows how violent he'll become when we let him loose–"

Christine ignored the officer's warnings, as well as Raoul's protests, and held her hand out to Rudolph, who carefully and tentatively, exited the cell and took Christine's hand.

The officers watched him warily, but Christine placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, which helped Rudolph feel safer and calmer. "T-t-they t-threw things at me," he whispered to Christine. "I…I was s-s-so s-s-s-scared."

"There's nothing to be afraid of anymore," Christine soothed. "I won't let anyone ever harm you."

She led him out of the prison, and down the hall, out to the lobby of the station. Christine had taken the blanket from inside Rudolph's cell, and threw it over his shoulders. "Hide your face in this," she whispered, knowing how self-conscious he was now that he was out in open daylight. "I will fetch us a carriage."

Raoul, who had followed them out this whole while, and who was still shocked beyond all belief, finally found his tongue and spoke. "That won't be necessary," he announced. "You may travel in my carriage."

Christine wanted nothing to do with Raoul, she was sick of the sight of him. But right now, getting Rudolph someplace safe, away from the prying eyes of others, was all that mattered. She couldn't afford to be proud right now.

"Thank you," she whispered, before following Raoul's lead and guiding Rudolph to the Vicomte's carriage. One quick glance from his master told the coachman to refrain from asking questions, as the large hunchback crawled inside the expensive carriage.

"Mademoiselle!" one of the officers hissed. "You have to sign papers when we release a prisoner!"

Raoul glanced at the officer, and then back at the carriage. "I will see to the papers," he reassured Christine, before turning and entering the station once more.

The officer looked extremely agitated. "How am I to explain this to Inspector LeDue!" he practically wailed. "You have no idea how much trouble it was, bringing that beast in! And now, he's out once more, just like that! LeDue will have my hide!"

Raoul could care less what happened to the officer. "Just tell LeDue the truth; bail was paid for the prisoner by someone who…apparently knows him." That part distressed Raoul the most. How did she know this creature? Where on earth could she have possibly met such a monster?

"I ain't never seen anything like that," the officer whispered, his eyes never leaving Rudolph's hunched-over figure as Christine drew the curtains in the carriage. "But she seemed to know it! How do you think–"

"I don't know," Raoul growled. "But I will find out…and I will need your help with that."

The officer stared blankly at the Vicomte. "Help? How? What can we do?"

"Follow my carriage," Raoul muttered, as he slid some money into the man's hand. "I want you to keep close watch on Mademoiselle Daae and this…this thing."

The officer stared at the money he had just received and mutely nodded his head. "And…for how long do you wish us to keep watch?"

Raoul turned his gaze to the carriage and narrowed his eyes as a plan began to brew within him. "Send word to me at the slightest change in activity. If she goes anywhere with the creature, follow them. The second she and the creature are parted, tell me at once, and keep close watch as to where they go!"

The officer nodded his head and then shouted instructions at several men who stood gaping at the carriage. The men disappeared, and the officer bowed his head to the Vicomte. "Everything will be arranged. We'll have an unmarked coach follow you and stay wherever Mademoiselle Daae and the beast go."

"Good man," Raoul muttered, before turning on his heel and exiting the station. With a grimace, he climbed into the unusually cramped carriage and barked orders to the driver.

"I did not realize signing papers would take so long," Christine mumbled, Rudolph's shrouded head resting against her shoulder.

Raoul glared at her from across the carriage, but forced a look of genuine concern on his face. "I had to convince them that you would be safe, and that…he…would not be harmful to the public."

Christine did not trust him, but chose not to press the matter further. She whispered soothing words into Rudolph's ear, as her hand ran back and forth over his shoulder.

Nothing further was said during the rest of the journey. Raoul was grateful that Christine drew the curtains in the carriage; he did not want to be seen in Paris with this monster. Normally the drive to the apartment was short, but at this moment, it seemed to take agonizingly long.

Finally, at long last, the carriage reached their destination, and before the driver could climb down to open the door, Christine was already half-way out, her hands grasping Rudolph's and helping him down. "Thank you, monsieur," she said quite simply, before turning and ushering Rudolph towards the building.

Raoul's brow furrowed at her tone. "Christine, you can't possibly be serious! You're going to let that…that thing inside with you?"

She paid him no heed; he was not worth wasting her breath upon.

Raoul couldn't believe this was happening. "Christine, be sensible!" he climbed down from the carriage and followed close behind. "At least let me stay, to make sure you will be safe."

"I'm fine," Christine muttered, fumbling with her door key. "I am in no more danger than I would be if I were taking in a stray kitten," she managed to unlock the door and help Rudolph inside. "Thank you for your help, monsieur, I am very grateful for the use of your carriage." Raoul opened his mouth to respond, but her next words cut him to the core. "However it shall be the last time I will impose upon you. As of this day, I am no longer in need of your charity. Good day to you."

Raoul stared wide-eyed and open mouthed, as Christine let the door shut behind her.

Had that just happened? What did she mean by that? His hands ran through his blonde hair, a growl rising up inside his chest. Something was going on, something he did not care for. She knew that creature all too well, and he knew her. She was hiding something…and he intended to find out!

Raoul turned to go back to his carriage, his eyes spying a smaller coach on the other side of the street. He saw the officers inside it just briefly, and he smiled with satisfaction, glad that they had followed his instructions.

He would deal with LeDue later. Right now, he had his own research to do. He climbed back inside his carriage and looked at the records he had taken from the station. "Start saying your prayers, monsieur Phantom," he hissed.

 

* * *

 

"I'm s-s-s-sorry I s-scared your maid," Rudolph mumbled.

Christine couldn't help but grin just slightly. "It's not your fault Rudolph, I had completely forgotten about Marguerite, but I'm sure she'll be alright."

The second she and Rudolph had entered the apartment, the pretty red-headed maid gasped at the sight of the hunchback, before screaming and fainting right there in the parlor. With Rudolph's help, they took her to her bedroom, and felt it wise to lock her in there.

Christine then went to work with cleaning Rudolph's cuts, washing his hair, and applying clean bandages to the sores on his body. She then cooked him some soup, and gave him a nice warm cup of tea. Poor Rudolph was so hungry that he had five bowls in a row! After he had eaten, Christine went to work tending to his tattered clothes. She mended several tears on his shirt, and was now making him a new one from one of the bed sheets in her room. Rudolph happily sat on the floor beside her, playing with Carman, Christine's tiny black kitten. It was very obvious that both the kitten, and Rudolph, had dearly missed one another.

"After it gets dark," Christine explained. "I will take you back to the opera house. I'm afraid we'll have to walk, but we'll stay close to the shadows, and at night, few will notice your appearance."

Rudolph's face lit up at her words. "Y-y-you are coming b-back?"

Christine stopped her sewing and looked into Rudolph's eyes, her heart breaking at the hope she saw. "Only to help you find your way home," she whispered.

Rudolph's face fell at her words. "I…I understand…" he mumbled. "Y-y-you h-have to take care of y-your family, just as the Master t-takes care of us."

Christine bit her lip. "How is your master?" she tentatively asked.

Rudolph continued playing with Carman. "He's sad," he answered. "He d-d-destroyed his chamber a-after you left."

Christine gasped as she stabbed her finger with the needle. However, it was Rudolph's words that caused her more alarm. "He destroyed his chamber? W-w-what do you mean?"

Rudolph looked at her strangely, thinking his answer had been obvious. "He k-knocked over e-e-everything. And the p-p-piano is broken. It w-won't play anymore."

Christine paled at Rudolph's description. She had witnessed Erik's wrathful anger in the past, and she knew he was capable of acting irrationally, but…going so far to destroy a beloved instrument? It was too horrible to comprehend.

"You say he is sad…is he…is he sick?" she asked, fear growing within her that perhaps Erik was now trying to harm himself.

Rudolph shrugged his massive shoulders. "I d-don't know…he looks alright, but…Suzette says his heart won't work."

Christine's eyes widened with horror. "What? What do you mean his heart won't work?"

Rudolph looked at her once more with confusion. "Suzette s-says that it's broken, meaning h-h-his heart. And if s-s-something is broken, t-t-t-that means it doesn't work. R-r-right?"

Christine didn't know whether to sigh with relief, or out of regret. "You're very perceptive Rudolph," she whispered. "And…perhaps you can tell me why you were at Notre Dame?"

Rudolph turned his face away to avoid catching her eyes. "I…I…I just w-wanted to see if it was true…" he whispered, a trace of personal shame in his voice. "I t-t-thought perhaps I w-w-would find the gypsy girl there. But…but Suzette w-was right…"

Christine heard the deep regret and sadness in his voice. "Right about what?"

"The story," he mumbled, looking down at the floor. "Suzette t-told me everything; the hunchback a-a-and the gypsy girl…t-they don't live happily e-e-ever after."

Christine paused, feeling her heart swell with sadness at Rudolph's revelation. "And…you thought that by going to Notre Dame, you would find Esmeralda? And prove that both she and Quasimodo did fall in love and live happily ever after?"

He nodded his head, and she noticed the tears that were dripping onto the carpet. "It was s-s-stupid, I know," he grumbled, his hands quickly moving to wipe his eyes.

Christine's heart melted at his words, and she reached out to take one if his massive hands in hers. "No Rudolph…searching for love and happy endings is never stupid."

Just then, the door to the apartment burst open, and Daae came rushing inside, his face streaked with perspiration and worry. "Christine? My God! Are you alright? You just left rehearsal! I've been looking everywhere for you! I–"

He paused when he finally noticed the large hunchback sitting on the floor next to his daughter.

Rudolph recognized Daae from the last time he had seen him, but he recognized the look of horror that the old man wore even more. Rudolph quickly rose to his feet and covered his face with his overly-large hands, before flying from the parlor into Christine's bedchamber.

Christine noticed the panic that spread across the hunchback's face. She tried to console him, but he was already on his feet and running. "Rudolph? Rudolph it's alright! It's only my father–"

The door slammed shut.

"WHAT THE DEVIL?" Daae cried, staring at his daughter in both confusion and dismay.

Christine quickly rose to her feet and crossed the parlor to where her father stood. "Please, keep your voice down! I don't Rudolph to be distressed any further than he is."

"RUDOLPH!"

"Papa, please!" Christine hissed. "He's not a threat, he's very gentle, like a child…please, keep your voice down!" she took her father's hands and led him to a chair where she forced him to sit down. "I'll make you some tea."

Daae reached out and grabbed his daughter's wrist. "No, you will tell me what is going on! You leave rehearsals without any warning; I am trying to reassure both the managers that you are alright, while at the same time, looking desperately for you! I searched every part of the opera house; in fact we had a whole search party looking for you! Oh! And on top of everything else, I hear rumors that you and the Vicomte de Chagny are engaged!"

Christine groaned and rolled her eyes. "No Papa, we are not engaged; you know that I do not care for the man."

"Well I figured that much was true!" he bellowed. "But how do you explain your disappearance?" he buried his head in his ands and let out a long weary groan. "Good Lord Christine, I feared…" he turned his face away, the tears ready to spill forth. "I thought that perhaps he had taken you again!"

Christine knew who her father was talking about, she didn't need to ask. "I'm alright," she murmured, sitting on the floor beside him, her hands holding his tightly. "I'm sorry for frightening you, but it was matter of great importance. When I heard the news, I had to go at once!"

The old man looked down at his daughter with utter confusion. "What news? Christine, what is that…" he paused and corrected himself. "WHO is that…that…"

"I told you, his name is Rudolph," Christine intervened. "And he's my friend."

Daae stared at Christine with absolute shock. "F-f-friend? How…when…" his head was spinning from all the questions he had. Nothing was making sense!

Christine took a deep breath, knowing that the time had finally come. "Papa, there is something you need to know. I…I didn't tell you before, because…well, at first it was because I didn't think you would believe me, and even now I'm having my doubts," she muttered. "But mainly it was because I was afraid…afraid of how you would think of me, and afraid of…of what this news would do to you…but, I love you with my whole heart, and I can't lie to you anymore," she sadly sighed, feeling the tears beginning to sting her eyes.

Daae looked at his daughter and felt his blood turn to ice. "Christine…w-what is wrong? What are you trying to say?"

Christine blinked back her tears and continued. "Do you remember when you asked me how I managed to escape the Phantom, and I told you that he let me go?"

Daae nodded his head slowly, recalling the conversation. "Yes…but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Very much, actually," Christine murmured. "Papa, I wasn't lying; the Phantom did let me go…because of you."

Daae's brow furrowed. "Because of me? I don't understand…Christine, none of this makes sense!"

"I love him!" she cried, surprising both herself and her father with her tone.

Daae stared at her with shock and alarm. "W-w-what do you mean?" he asked, his voice shaking. With a steadying breath, Christine lifted her eyes to her father's, and one look in their blue depths spoke volumes to him. "Good God…" he whispered.

"Papa, please!" Christine gripped his hands tightly in hers, forcing him to look at her. "I know he was cruel once, what he did to you was horrible, but…he's changed Papa, he's not the same man that he was then."

Daae was shaking. "T-t-that horrible, monstrous madman…that beast–"

"No Papa! No…he's not a beast, he's not a madman…he was kind to me, good to me…he taught me to sing!" she was rambling on and knew that none of this was helping her father. Taking a deep breath, Christine rose to her feet and called for Rudolph. The door opened a tiny crack and the hunchback peeked out. "Rudolph, come here for a moment, please," she pleaded. "I want you to meet my father."

With slow, tentative steps, Rudolph emerged, carrying Carman in his hands. Daae stared up at the giant hunchback and looked back at his daughter for an answer.

"This is Rudolph," Christine introduced.

"H-h-hello M-m-monsieur Daae," Rudolph murmured, his feet shuffling nervously.

Daae swallowed the lump in his throat and glanced at his daughter, before looking back up at the hunchback. "H-h-hello Rudolph," he nervously greeted.

"Rudolph lives below the opera house," Christine explained. "He and his friends, Suzette, Gustave, and Jacque, all live below, and Erik takes care of them."

Daae looked at his daughter then. "Erik?"

"Yes Papa, the Phantom; his name is Erik," Christine explained. "Once upon a time, Rudolph, and the others, were kept in a horrible place; a carnival that put their bodies on display for ridicule and money. They were kept in cages, starved, and beaten. And then one day, while the carnival was in Paris, Erik–the Phantom–broke free from his cage, and saved the others from their horrible fate. They escaped into the city under nightfall, and have been living under the opera house ever since."

Daae couldn't believe what he was hearing. "H-how…how do you know all this?"

"Because they told me," Christine explained, turning her face to Rudolph and smiling up at him. "They are my friends."

Daae glanced at the hunchback and then back at his daughter. The creature looked monstrous at first glance, but from the way he tenderly held the kitten in one hand, and Christine's hand in the other, Daae could see that this creature would never harm another soul.

"I…I remember you," he whispered, gazing up at Rudolph. "You wore a shroud then, but…I do remember you."

Rudolph grinned at the old man's words. "Yes, w-w-we were helping you g-g-get a prop…a s-s-spinning wheel, I think."

Daae smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, that's right, and there was a little woman with you…and others too."

"Suzette!" Rudolph stated proudly. "That w-w-w-was Suzette! And w-was one of the others g-g-grumpy?"

Daae thought for a second. "Well, I recall someone not exactly being thrilled that I was there and wished to see me leave at once."

"That w-w-would be Jacque," Rudolph explained.

Christine couldn't help but giggle at Rudolph's words. "Why don't you go and play with Carman in my chamber, Rudolph," she encouraged gently. Rudolph nodded his head and gave Daae one last smile, before turning and taking the kitten with him back into the room. Christine turned once more to face her father, a sad smile spreading across her pretty face. "Now you can see why the Phantom forbids anyone from entering the cellars."

Daae silently nodded his head as he watched Rudolph quietly shut the door behind him. "Yes…one look at those creatures and someone would immediately lock them up."

Christine nodded her head. "Sadly, that was what took me away from the opera house this morning. Some time last night, Rudolph wandered outside and went to Notre Dame Cathedral," she sighed as she remembered the hunchback's sad tale. "He adores the story, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ for obvious reasons; but he recently learned that the beautiful Esmeralda does not choose Quasimodo, and he had hoped that perhaps by going to the cathedral itself…he could change the story."

Daae's expression changed to one of sadness and pity. "Yes, I too overheard the stories today at the opera house, about a real hunchback being found in the bell tower of the cathedral. I can only imagine what the police must have done…"

Christine's fists clenched with rage at the memory of finding poor Rudolph in such conditions. "I went to the station as soon as I heard the news. Oh Papa, they were throwing things at him!" she hissed with rage. "And it sickens me to think of…of what you must have gone through in such a place."

Daae sighed and looked down at the floor. "Not one of my finest memories, I confess," he whispered. "But then again, they all thought me mad. The burdens I bore were nothing, I am assuming, to what your friend Rudolph must have endured."

He paused and glanced up at his daughter, who was pacing slightly, trying to ease the rage that he could see clearly written across her face. There were still many questions that needed to be answered, and none as important as the one which dealt with her previous outburst. "Christine…what happened down there, beneath the opera house?"

Christine stopped her pacing and glanced at her father. She was grateful to see the understanding smile on his face, rather than one filled with harsh judgment. She went to him and took his hands in hers, sitting once more on the floor beside him. "I was so afraid at first…thinking that I had made the most terrible mistake in my whole life. I was thankful, knowing that you were free, but I was terrified, wondering what would become of me, wondering if I would ever see you again…"

Daae nodded his head. "I too had similar fears," he whispered, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of her head.

Christine smiled up at him, but she squeezed his hands harder, knowing that this would probably be hard for him to understand. "It started slowly at first. We couldn't stand each other," she smiled softly at the arguments she and Erik first had. "But little by little…things began to change. Slowly, we became friends," she whispered. "He heard me singing, and made a bargain with me; he would teach me to sing properly and I would perform in his opera, playing the role of Aminta–"

"You mean he had planned this all along? For you to sing the lead?" Daae gasped. Christine nodded her head, and the old man sank further back into his chair, astounded by the revelation. "That's why you learned the music so quickly."

"Yes," Christine whispered. "And in exchange for letting him teach me, he would grant me my freedom when the time to perform the opera had come." She looked down at the floor, pausing as the memories flashed before her like photographs. "It seemed like such a simple bargain then…so I agreed, thinking nothing of it," she sighed. "Little did either of us know, that keeping our word would become one of the hardest choices for us to make."

Daae reached down and cupped his daughter's chin, lifting her face up so he could see her eyes. "What do you mean Christine?"

Christine took a deep breath and held her father's hands tightly. "I mean what I said earlier, Papa. I…I love him, and he loves me."

Daae stared at his daughter in shock. "That Phantom…you and the Phantom…?"

"Erik, Papa, his name is Erik…and yes, we…we fell in love," she couldn't help it; she was smiling through the tears because the memory was so wonderful. "He learned to trust me, showing me so many wonderful things, revealing all sorts of secrets to his labyrinth world…and I sang for him, not because I had made an agreement, but because I wanted to, and because I could see the pleasure in his eyes when he heard my voice. And…and he never forgave himself, for what he did to you…" she whispered.

Daae's eyes widened. "W-what do you mean?"

"He knew I missed you," Christine explained, pausing now and then to wipe her eyes. "And because he did not wish to see me upset, he and his friends would go out into the city, late at night, and search for you. He had been doing this for some time, long before he told me about it. And…and then one night, not so long ago, he learned where you were…" Christine could still hear Madame Giry's information echoing in her ears. The night Erik told Christine to leave was the same night he learned about her father. He had done it all for her and her father…

"I don't understand," Daae muttered, his face contorted with puzzlement. "You're telling me, that he, the very man who separated us…was also trying to help us be reunited?"

Christine's tears were flowing freely now. "Yes," she whispered. "And Papa, I…I am not a good child, I do not deserve your love," she wailed, turning her face away. "I was being so selfish; I missed you dreadfully, but…but Erik was right; if he did not throw me out, if he did force me to go…" she couldn't finish her words, she was so ashamed.

Daae looked down upon his weeping daughter, his throat going dry at all the information she had just shared. "Christine…" he murmured, before reaching down to gather her up in his arms. Christine clung to him, sobbing against his shoulder, mumbling over and over again how sorry she was, and Daae simply whispered soothing words into her hair, his hand running through her wild brown curls. "It's alright," he whispered. "You're not a bad child…and you're not selfish. You're in love," he explained to her. "And when you're in love, it's hard to think of anything else." He gently took her shoulders and eased her away from him so he could look into her eyes. "I honestly do not believe you would have left me in that prison, Christine, if that is what you fear," he smiled. "But…I won't deny that I am grateful to your Phantom for letting you go to find me."

Christine smiled slightly, but there was still so much more to tell. "Papa, it's true that without the Vicomte's help, I would not have been able to release you…but I want you to know that Erik did give me over 300 franks, in gold, to help pay for your release."

Daae's eyes widened with disbelief. "Over 300 franks?" he practically choked. "Christine, that amount of money…that would have been well over the amount needed to free me!"

Christine's brows rose at his words. "But…but the officers at the station…they said it wasn't enough?"

Daae felt his jaw clench. "They lied…they were trying to cheat you out of your money!"

Christine shook her head. "But it was Raoul they would have cheated; Raoul who willingly paid the dept to have you released…"

Daae knew that the Vicomte had paid for his release, but he had never known the amount of money that had been spent on his behalf. If he and his daughter were having this conversation two days ago, Daae would have assumed that the poor Vicomte had been cheated from the police, and feel obliged to help the handsome nobleman.

But now…he was beginning to see why his daughter distrusted the man. And he remembered the night he burst into the Vicomte's club, begging for Raoul to help him free his daughter. The Vicomte called him a madman, insulted Christine's honor, and then had him thrown out! And yes, later he came to the prison and apologized, but…how much of that apology had been true? He had been blinded by the Vicomte's promises to help him find Christine…but the Vicomte knew very well where Christine was, after all, he had told him!

Something wasn't making sense. And Daae had a cold suspicion that whatever it was…it was sinister.

"Papa? Are…are you alright?"

Daae glanced down at his daughter and saw the worry in her pretty blue eyes. "I'm fine my dear, I didn't mean to worry you…it's just so much news to take in!" he murmured, forcing a smile on his lips, although in truth, it was quite strained. "Have…have you been in contact with…with Erik?" he asked, testing the man's name for the first time.

Christine felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she recalled the night Erik had been in her bedroom. However, she was not ready to go into that much detail with her father. She quickly turned her head and muttered a "no", before her father could read her eyes.

Daae sighed, not sure how to respond. He was happy that his daughter had not been harmed while being the Phantom's prisoner…if one could call it that. And it filled him with joy to know that his daughter had experienced and felt love! But the man…despite what Christine said, the world still saw the Phantom of the Opera as a madman, and even if he had truly changed since Daae had encountered him, he still had that horrible past, a past that the world would use to judge him. And then, of course, there was the issue of his face…

And did the Phantom truly love Christine as she said? Or was it all a trick? Perhaps he was planning to lure Christine back, to take her once more and to never let her go?

He quickly squished that notion. Of course the man loved her! Would a man who was simply using her waste his time with trying to learn the whereabouts of her father? Would a man who didn't love her sacrifice his own happiness so that she could be with her family?

No. Christine had at long last found such a man worthy of her love, and who Daae could tell, by simply hearing his daughter's voice and looking into her eyes, that this man did indeed love her. The Phantom was not the monster he once was; beauty had broken the beast's spell.

"You must go to him," her father murmured.

Christine's eyes widened with shock at her father's words. "W-w-what?"

He took her hands in his and helped her rise to her feet. "If you truly love him, Christine, then you must go to him at once and tell him of your love," he pushed a stray curl away from her cheek. "I do not know the full details, and I understand if they are too painful to share…but I have the impression that the two of you did not part well. But I believe you when you say that you love him still…and that you believe he loves you just as fiercely. In fact…I have often felt a mysterious presence overseeing rehearsals," he murmured.

Christine couldn't believe what her father was saying. Was he actually…giving her his blessing? "No doubt he saw you with the Vicomte the night before," Daae whispered. One look at his daughter's crestfallen face, and he knew it was true. "You must go to him at once and explain everything. Tell him that your father is an old fool, and that the Vicomte's mask was the one that fooled me, not his."

Christine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. She didn't dare pinch herself, for fear of awaking and learning that this was all some sort of dream. "But Papa–"

"I trust you Christine," he smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "And oddly enough, I trust him. I…I do not think he will take you away from me…but I can not bear to know that I am keeping you from him."

Christine didn't know what to say. She was crying once more, only this time it was out of pure happiness. "THANK YOU, PAPA!" she practically shouted, throwing her arms around her father's neck and hugging him fiercely.

Daae laughed and hugged his daughter back just as tightly. "Hurry," he whispered. "Night is falling. Take Rudolph back to the opera house, but do not leave until you talk to him."

"Oh Papa," Christine sniffled, wiping her eyes and grinning at her father. "I…I don't know what to say…"

Her father smiled. "Oh Christine, seeing your happiness right now…that tells me more than all the words in the world ever could." He kissed her cheek once more, before giving her hands a gentle squeeze. "Now go."

 

* * *

 

Erik stood on the roof of the opera house, watching the last of the sun's rays set over Paris. Night was closing in once more, and as soon as the shadows covered the streets, his search for Rudolph would continue beyond the opera house's walls.

He and the others had spent the entire day, searching every crevice, every crack, every corner, leaving no stone unturned, looking in all the usual, and unusual places, that Rudolph could have hidden. Erik even searched the depths of the catacombs, thinking that perhaps Rudolph had somehow wandered into the twisting tunnels that stretched throughout the city.

None of them had had any luck.

"Where on earth can he be?" Erik muttered as the last of the sun's rays disappeared over the horizon. If anything had happened to Rudolph, Erik would never be able to forgive himself. He had a responsibility to these people, he had promised with his own life to look after them, to care for them, to never let any danger ever come to them–

"Master?"

Erik turned to see Gustave's head poking through the trap door that led onto the roof. "Have you found him?" Erik asked somewhat anxiously. "Where was he? Where is he now?"

Gustave sadly shook his head. "No Master, we have not found him yet…but...we have just learned that earlier today, a hunchback was discovered at…at Notre Dame Cathedral."

Erik blinked several times until finally the news Gustave had delivered sunk in. "Notre Dame?" he practically shouted. He turned away and gripped the edge of roof, rage boiling in him at the horrors Rudolph must have endured. "Of all the stupid…" he bit his lip, knowing that placing his rage on Rudolph would do no good. "Where is he now?" he demanded, turning to face Gustave once more. "How did you learn this news?"

"Because I told them."

Erik stared at the face of Madame Giry, who was now emerging through the trap door. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the ballet mistress who had recently become a thorn in his side. "What are you doing here?" he coldly hissed, the question coming out more like a demand.

Madame Giry sighed and climbed through the trap door and out onto the roof. "I know I am no longer welcome, but I thought you might make allowances for information on Rudolph's welfare."

Erik's jaw tightened. "Speak then and be on your way," he growled.

Madame Giry nodded her head. "The news is true. The hunchback that was discovered at Notre Dame was Rudolph; I do not know how or why he went to the cathedral, but he was discovered, and the police arrested him."

Erik grunted a curse. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"He is safe now," Madame Giry calmly explained.

Erik stared at the woman with dismay and surprise. "W-w-what? How? Who?"

"Christine," Madame Giry murmured. "She paid for his release and he is with her. She sent a letter to me earlier this afternoon and wished for me to tell you, in case you were worrying."

Erik couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Christine…Christine rescued him?" he asked, his tone filled with both bewilderment and amazement.

Madame Giry couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that. He is quite safe and will be returning later tonight."

Erik stiffened at this news. "Alone?" he asked.

Madame Giry cocked her head to one side. "Why would you care to know?"

Erik rolled his eyes out of irritation, something Madame Giry couldn't help but notice, and couldn't help but grin at. "Do not toy with me, madam," Erik growled. "Just answer my question."

"She didn't say," Madame Giry responded truthfully. "But there are a few things I wish to discuss with you, if I may…" she glanced at Gustave who had been watching their conversation this whole time. "Alone."

Gustave didn't even wait for Erik to dismiss him; he quickly shut the door and left the two of them alone on the roof.

"I have nothing to say to you," Erik grumbled, turning his back to the ballet mistress and looking back at the city. "Nor do I wish to hear anything you have to say. Your words and actions have long since haunted my lair that I've come to believe that this place truly is haunted."

"I come seeking your forgiveness."

The words took Erik entirely by surprise. He turned to face the woman, his brow furrowed with confusion. "What?"

"I wish to apologize," she stated once more. "For my accusations, that I now realize, were quite wrong."

Erik glared at her. "You mean your accusations about me raping Christine and using her for whatever sick fantasies I craved at the moment?"

Madame Giry simply nodded her head. "Yes, and for calling you heartless, as well as denouncing your feelings for her. I realize I was in the wrong."

Erik muttered something under his breath and turned to look at the city once more. "If I accept your 'apology', will you leave me in peace?" he muttered.

Madame Giry sighed and softly approached Erik's side. "I can not make promises on that," she whispered. "But I am truly sorry for misjudging you Erik. I see now that your feelings for Christine were genuine and pure."

"Nothing has changed," Erik murmured to the night air. "My feelings remain what they are."

Madame Giry smiled softly at this. "I am glad to hear it, for I know that Christine's feelings remain unchanged as well."

Erik snorted at her words. "I think she has taken someone else into her heart, someone tall, blonde, handsome, and filthy rich."

Madame Giry shook her head. "Oh Erik, you are a master of illusion. I would have thought that you of all people would have learned to look at things twice before judging them."

She turned and began heading back towards the trap door. Erik turned to watch her go, questions now forming in his mind. "What caused you to finally see that my feelings were true? Divine revelation?" he mockingly joked.

Madame Giry turned and locked her eyes with his before opening the door. "You could call it that," she answered. "After all, everything I told you I learned from an 'angel of music'."

Erik's eyes widened at her words, and he flew to the trap door, stopping Madame Giry from disappearing. "What did you say?"

The ballet mistress smiled. "Erik, do you truly believe that Christine, who has shared so much of her heart with you, would turn away from you now, after weeks of pining for you?" She reached out and touched her hand against his chest. "What does your heart tell you Erik? Trust your heart…sometimes it sees things so much more clearly than our eyes."

Erik stood in stunned silence as Madame Giry began her descent through the trap door. "Oh, and one more thing," she added, before going. "This is very important, and something you need to know."

Erik woke from his trance and looked at the woman with expectation. "Yes? What is it?"

Madame Giry took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I think Christine is pregnant."

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Erik and Christine are out to pursue the truth of what is really happening...not realizing that someone else is pursuing them...

_**Pursuit** _

"What I wouldn't give for a glass of bourbon."

"Shut up!"

"What?" protested the first police officer. "We've been sitting outside this stupid place for well over…" he dug his pocket watch out of his coat. "Nearly eight hours! How much longer do we have to stay here?"

"SHUT UP!" hissed his partner. "Look!"

The two officers peered out the window of their coach at the door of the apartment building. They noticed Christine emerge first, followed by a large bent over figure, whose head seemed to be covered in some sort of shroud.

"That's them! Just as the Vicomte said!"

The first officer's brow furrowed. "So what are we supposed to do?"

"Well, the Vicomte wanted us to follow them, and send word to him at once when the girl and the creature part ways."

The first officer grimaced at this news. "Follow them? Won't that give us away?" he pointed to the interior of the coach they occupied. "Won't it look suspicious if a strange carriage is following them at a slow pace?"

The second officer opened the carriage door and stepped out slowly, keeping his eyes on both Christine and Rudolph as they kept to the shadows on the dark street. "We'll have to go on foot."

"WHAT?"

"Be quiet!" the second officer hissed. "You want them to hear you?"

His partner's face contorted in displeasure. "We have no idea where they're going! Or how far! Besides, I'm sure I remember the Vicomte wanting us to send him word as soon as they left…why don't I go on and deliver the message, while you follow–"

"Will you just get out of that thing and help me track them?"

The first officer groaned and reluctantly climbed out of the carriage. "I should have joined the army," he grumbled.

 

* * *

 

"I l-like your father…he s-s-seems very nice," Rudolph commented, as he and Christine continued their long night journey back to the opera house.

Christine smiled and gave Rudolph's hand a tender squeeze. "I think my father likes you too, Rudolph."

Rudolph grinned at her words. "H-h-he didn't look at m-me too s-s-strangely," he stuttered. "A-and he didn't s-scream." A hopeful smile began to spread across his face. "M-m-maybe your father c-c-can come a-and live with us! A-and you can come back?"

Christine opened her mouth to speak…but paused at the thought. She didn't know what would transpire once she helped Rudolph get back to the opera house safely. She prayed that Erik would see her, let her tell him the truth and hear her out, and she prayed that he too would reveal everything finally to her. She wanted to hear what he felt for her from his own lips, she wanted to look into his beautiful, haunting, amber eyes, and see the truth for herself.

And perhaps…just perhaps, it would be possible, for her world, and his, to join together.

Christine decided it was best to change the subject; she didn't want to get Rudolph's hopes up, nor her own just yet, although she could feel so many butterflies flying rapidly about in her stomach. "Tell me Rudolph…what was it like? Notre Dame Cathedral?"

Rudolph was silent for a moment, and Christine began to fear that perhaps she had brought up unpleasant memories. But then he broke the silence, his voice filled with wonder, as he replied, "It was v-v-v-very beautiful."

Christine smiled at his words. "How beautiful? Tell me everything."

Rudolph grinned and began describing everything he remembered; the smell of incense still billowing in the air, the shimmering light of hundreds of prayer candles, and the glow that illuminated the magnificent Rose Window. But all these things paled in comparison to the description of the view of Paris from the bell tower.

"Oh Rudolph," Christine sighed. "You are very lucky. You have done something that so few people in this whole world have done."

Rudolph couldn't help but blush at her words. "T-t-the Master h-has also b-b-been there."

Christine remembered the first time she stood on the roof of the opera house with Erik by her side. That was the day that their friendship began to blossom into something more. "Yes," she whispered. "He told me he had been there. I was very envious," she chuckled.

Rudolph smiled tenderly down at her and wrapped her tiny hand in his large one. "Maybe t-t-the Master w-w-will take you there s-s-someday?"

Christine looked up at Rudolph and squeezed his hand once more. "I would like that very much."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and with every step that brought them closer, so did the butterflies in Christine's stomach become more and more violent.

What would she say to him? There were thousands of things she knew she could say, but what would make him stop and listen to her? What if he refused to speak with her? What if he was angry? Oh God, what if he heard the news about her supposed engagement to the Vicomte?

Christine fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and found the ring that Erik had given her. Without a second thought, she slipped the elegant diamond on her finger, hoping that by wearing it she could show Erik that she indeed treasured the gift, and that her heart always would belong to him and him alone.

All too soon, the towering rotunda of the Paris Opera House was in sight, and they were standing but a few feet away from the magnificent structure.

Christine took a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves. Rudolph noticed the stiff way Christine stood, and tenderly took her hand in his. "This way," he whispered, leading her to a shadowed corner of a building that stood across the street from the opera house.

"Where?" Christine asked.

"Y-you l-look nervous," Rudolph said. "B-b-but don't worry…no one w-will see us this way."

Christine's brow furrowed at his words, and she opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but all words were stopped by the sound of iron scraping the pavement.

It was very dark, the place where they stood, but Christine's eyes had learned to adapt to the darkness after all those months of living in Erik's lair, and she could tell that the sound had come from a heavy iron grate that Rudolph had lifted off the ground and shoved to one side. She didn't need further explanation as the sound of running water could be heard below.

"The sewer?"

Rudolph nodded his head as if someone asking him this was an everyday occurrence. "It's t-t-the s-s-safest w-way in a-a-and out of the opera h-house," he explained. "If you w-w-w-want to avoid t-t-the usual entrances."

Christine wanted to see Rudolph home, safe and sound, and she desperately wanted to see Erik more than anything…but the idea of walking in raw sewage did turn her stomach somewhat. It was going to be difficult enough to make Erik listen to her; she didn't need the added difficulty of trying to talk to him while at the same time, smelling of dead fish and human waste.

"It's alright Christine," Rudolph reassured, holding out his hand to her. "No one w-w-w-will see us if w-we go in t-this way."

Christine swallowed her pride and nodded her head. She only prayed that Erik had strong nostrils.

Taking Rudolph's large hand, she followed him down the dark hole that led into the sewers, wishing her night vision was as good as Rudolph's and that she could see where she was going, but at the same time slightly grateful that she couldn't. She bit her tongue as she heard the sound of rats scurrying by, and prayed that her hair didn't get tangled in any cobwebs.

Rudolph reached the ground first and helped Christine the rest of the way. "Just a m-moment," he whispered, climbing back up part way to take the iron grate and pull it once more over the sewer entrance.

"Have you traveled this way much?" Christine asked nervously, determined not to shriek as she felt something tiny, with wet scraggly fur, brush past her ankle.

"N-n-not very much…Jacque s-s-showed this place to me once…and I've seen him a-a-and Gustave, and e-e-even the Master use it. W-while it is the s-safest way in a-and out of the opera house…it is also t-the least guarded."

Christine's brow furrowed at his words. "What do you mean?"

Rudolph sighed. "The Master h-has t-t-traps set all over the opera house, t-t-to keep trespassers out. B-b-but because this entrance is s-s-so obscure, not to m-mention very d-d-dark, the Master has n-never felt a need to guard it as w-well as the others. B-b-but he always s-says t-t-that w-we must be careful if we u-use it."

Christine nodded her head with understanding. "Yes, in case someone does see you use it, you don't want any unwanted visitors."

Rudolph nodded his head back, and then, without any warning, turned and picked Christine up. "H-here, d-don't w-w-want you ruining y-your dress."

Christine had been startled by the sudden feeling of being lifted off the ground. "Oh! But Rudolph, that is not necessary, I assure–"

"It w-w-wouldn't do," he interrupted. "F-f-for you to see the Master a-a-and have a s-soiled dress."

Christine was moved by Rudolph's sweet and simple gesture. "How did you know I wanted to see your master?"

Rudolph grinned and let out a small chuckle. "Y-y-you began b-b-breathing m-more and more r-r-r-rapidly the c-closer we got to the opera house," he explained. "O-only people who are afraid…or in love, d-do that."

Christine blushed, but couldn't help but smile in response. "Rudolph, you may be the world's most perceptive, most wise man, that ever lived."

 

* * *

 

"Did you see that?" hissed the second officer to his partner, who was trailing behind.

"No," the first officer grumbled, gasping for breath and leaning against a building for support. "T-t-they were moving too quickly," he panted.

The second officer rolled his eyes. "Perhaps if you drank less and exercised more, you wouldn't be as winded as you are now, and you would have seen them disappear, as I did…through that!"

The first officer peered to where his partner had pointed, but all he saw was a tall stone building covered in shadows. "They went into the building?"

"NO!" the second officer groaned in exasperation. "There's a hole in the ground…the big one picked something up and they both disappeared into the ground!"

The first officer threw his hands up in irritation. "Well what are we supposed to do about it?"

The second officer just gave him a look, before crossing the street to the place where Rudolph and Christine had been standing. His partner reluctantly followed, grumbling all the way, and snorting with disgust when the second officer asked for help with moving the iron grate.

After much straining and cursing, they finally managed to move the grate and peer into the place where Christine and Rudolph had disappeared. "You smell that?" the second officer asked, his eyes flying to his partner.

The first officer coughed, and sadly nodded his head. "Wish I couldn't," he muttered.

"It's the sewer!" the second officer gasped. "They're taking the sewer to…to somewhere!"

The first officer rolled his eyes. "And where do you suppose they are going?"

"Only one way to find out…"

The first officer stared at his partner with a blank expression, before his eyes finally widened with the realization at what the other man was suggesting. "No…no, you can not be serious!"

"Come on! We'll lose sight of them if we don't hurry up!"

"No!" the first officer hissed. "I am not going down there to simply follow some…some freak and idiot girl!"

"If you don't come with me now," the second officer warned, "I'll tell the Vicomte, myself, that you refused to help with this investigation…and not only will that mean that you don't get a cut of the money, but that you won't get any further assignments…because you'll be fired!"

The first officer glared at his partner. "LeDue wouldn't order us to do anything like this."

"Well, LeDue isn't running this investigation!" the second officer hissed.

The first officer let out a labored sigh and began to follow his partner who was already descending down the dark sewer entrance. "Seems that LeDue isn't running much anymore, not since the Vicomte's been visiting the station…"

 

* * *

 

Christine was extremely surprised to find where she and Rudolph had ended up. She had assumed that the sewer led directly to the underground lake in Erik's lair, but rather, it flowed just away from the opera cellars, in fact, if she and Rudolph and continued going straight, they would have traveled the sewer for miles, as he informed her. But instead, they turned a corner at one point, and stopped momentarily, as Rudolph wrestled with a large rock, finally pushing it away to reveal a crawl space hidden behind it.

The space was just large enough for Rudolph to fit, and he led the way, Christine crawling on her hands and knees close behind. It did not take them long to reach the other end of the crawl space, which opened itself up into a large round pipe. Rudolph helped Christine out of the pipe, and she gasped as she realized they were standing atop a small ravine that overlooked the chamber where Rudolph and the others slept.

Christine couldn't help but grin as she looked down at the place where her dear beloved friends lived, hoping to see there faces (even Jacque would be a welcomed sight), but her smile faded as she realized the chamber was empty.

"I w-w-wonder w-where they all are?" Rudolph murmured out loud.

As if on cue, Suzette, Jacque, and Gustave, entered the chamber, each talking all at once, their voices filled with questions and excitement.

"Rudolph is all right?" Suzette choked, tears of relief streaming down her face. "That is what she said?"

Gustave grinned and nodded his head. "Yes, she told me that Christine had found him and would be returning him tonight!"

"Tonight?" Jacque gasped. "How? When?"

"Oh! Christine will be here?" Suzette gasped, her face lighting up with excitement. "Oh how wonderful! I have missed her so dearly–"

"SUZETTE!"

The three who stood on the ground looked upward and let out a unified gasp as Christine, who was also crying and grinning from ear to ear, waved at them happily.

"CHRISTINE!" they practically shouted in unison.

"And Rudolph! She brought Rudolph just as Madame Giry said!" Gustave gasped with delight, as the large hunchback carefully carried Christine down the ravine.

As soon as Christine's feet touched the ground, she flew into the arms of her friends, falling to her knees to hug Suzette, reaching out to give Gustave a fierce hug, and even leaping on her feet to hug Jacque, much to his surprise. He stood stiff as he felt her arms go around him, but even he couldn't help it, and gave in somewhat, his good arm hugging her back.

Suzette was in Rudolph's arms instantly after Christine released her. She was weeping over him, and he was crying with her, murmuring how sorry he was for frightening her and the others, reassuring them all he would never do it again. Suzette was just too happy to have him back, that she didn't bother to scold him, she just wrapped her tiny arms around his head and planted kisses all across his brow.

"Oh, Christine," Gustave sighed, smiling so brightly at the sight of her. "It is so good to have you back! Oh this place has been a tomb since you left!"

Christine blushed but smiled at his words and squeezed his hands in hers. "Believe it or not, but the world above is not much better without any of you."

"And uh…your father?" Jacque tentatively asked, trying to keep his emotions under control and not reveal that he was as glad as the others to see her again.

"Oh, he is very well," Christine grinned. "He is doing so much better now that he is free from that place," she reached out and touched Jacque's cheek, before leaning up on her toes to kiss it. "Thank you Jacque, for finding him."

Despite the tattoos that covered his face, Jacque was blushing from ear to ear. "Y-you know?" he asked, somewhat surprised.

Christine nodded her head and brushed the tears from her eyes. "Madame Giry told me how you found the prison where they were keeping him. Thank you so much," she whispered, trying hard to control her tears of joy at seeing her friends again once more.

"Oh Christine, we have missed you so," Suzette sighed, happiness now replacing her melancholy. "And I am glad to hear that your father is safe and well…and thank you…thank you so much for helping Rudolph."

Christine smiled at the tiny woman who was practically sitting on Rudolph's shoulder. She opened her mouth to respond, but a chill swept through the air, and everyone turned to the entryway to see the tall, dark, and broad figure of Erik, standing and staring at Christine, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run a marathon.

Christine was frozen in place and felt her breath catch as his dark amber eyes captured hers, holding her gaze to him as a lover holds his beloved in the night. Her throat went dry, her voice disappeared, and Christine was sure that even her breathing had stopped. The presence of the others seemed to have disappeared; all she could see was him…

Gustave looked back and forth between Christine and the Master, and swallowed the lump in his throat before finally speaking. "Rudolph is back, Master. Christine…she brought him home, just…just as Madame Giry said."

Erik's eyes never left Christine's when he finally spoke, his voice dark and calm. "I am glad you are safe, Rudolph."

Christine thought her knees would buckle at the sound of Erik's voice. It had been too long…

Rudolph bit his lip, fearing the punishment he may receive. "I'm s-s-s-sorry I l-left Master–"

"It doesn't matter now," Erik interrupted, his eyes still focused on Christine. "I'm just glad that you're safe."

The others glanced at one another awkwardly, unsure what to say or do. Finally, it was Christine who found her voice and spoke up. "Erik…if…if I may…I wish to talk to you–"

"I'll meet you in your chamber," he simply said, turning on his heel and disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared, his black cape billowing behind him.

Christine felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. His voice sounded so cold! So unfeeling! It was as she had feared; he must have heard the news of her false engagement.

But instead of giving way to tears, she lifted her chin high, determined to make him hear what she had to say, and determined to show him how deeply she still loved him. She ran her fingers across the ring and said a silent prayer for God to give her courage and keep her emotions under control.

"It was good to see you all again," she murmured, turning to the others and smiling at all of them, biting her lip to hold back the tears.

"God bless you," Suzette whispered, climbing down from Rudolph's shoulder, and reaching out for the young woman, who stooped to her knees to hug the tiny woman fiercely. "It will all be all right," Suzette whispered into Christine's hair. "Have no fear, dear…keep your chin up."

Christine smiled at Suzette's words, brushing away a few renegade tears that had escaped, and with her head lifted high and determination in her eyes, she turned and left the chamber.

 

* * *

 

"Ahh! What the hell was that?"

"Keep your voice down! Do you want them to hear us?" hissed the second officer at his partner, who was trailing behind him as they plunged further and further into the sewer.

"That better not have been a rat that just–"

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up!" the first officer retorted. "This wasn't my idea! We should have just gone and told the Vicomte when we had the opportunity."

"We'll get the message to him soon enough. Right now, we just keep watch for this girl and…and that _thing_ that's with her."

The first officer groaned and continued to trudge through the sludge and filth behind his partner. "How are we going to watch this girl when we can barely see anything down here? And furthermore, how far are we going to follow them? This place must go on for miles!"

The second officer ignored his partner's protests and continued trudging onward. "This is crazy," the first officer muttered, following close behind, and then cursed when he ran into the other man. "Ouch! Why did you stop?"

"Quiet…"

"No! Why did you stop–"

"BE QUIET!" the second officer hissed, turning and clutching the other man by the collar of his uniform and shaking him. "Look…"

The first officer followed the direction of his partner's hand, noticing that he was pointing at the ground just off to the left of them. "Footprints."

There, on the dry stony ground just around a small turn, was a pair of muddy, filthy footprints that stopped at a large rock. "They went through there," the second officer murmured.

The first officer snorted. "I only see one pair…that couldn't be them."

"When have you ever seen a pair of footprints that large?" the second officer argued. He had a point; the muddy footprints were big enough for the average man to fit both his feet in.

"Well where did they go?"

"I don't know," the second officer whispered. "But I have a feeling that if we move this rock, we'll find out."

The first officer groaned and lifted his eyes heavenward. "Lifting…why did it have to be lifting?"

 

* * *

 

Christine couldn't believe how after all these weeks of being away, her chamber looked untouched, as if she had been there all this time. A part of her was curious to see Erik's chamber; it was almost impossible to believe what Rudolph had told her, that Erik had destroyed his beloved piano. The practical side of her, however, protested to the very thought of disobeying Erik right now, and deep down she knew that if she saw that horrific sight, her struggle to tell him the truth would be even more difficult.

She had been in the chamber for quite some time, and Christine was beginning to worry that perhaps Erik was not going to see her after all. Perhaps he had intended to avoid her all along?

With a weary sigh, she peeled the lacy curtains back from her bed, and sat on its soft surface, gazing at the tiny waterfall that glimmered in the far corner of her room.

She didn't hear him when he entered.

"Is it true?"

Christine gasped and leapt to her feet, turning at once to face him, feeling her legs shake at the handsome sight of him.

He was glorious; tall and dark, towering over her like a mountain, his muscular arms and broad shoulders filling the doorway, reminding Christine how wonderful it felt to be caught in those arms, to be held and crushed in those arms.

His eyes were brilliant; dark and mysterious, and yet their amber color burned with so many different promises: danger, menace, destruction, and passion.

She knew Erik would not believe her if she told him, but she prayed that perhaps one day he would understand when she told him she thought him handsome. His features were not classically or fashionably handsome, not the same way Raoul was; but the rugged lines of his jaw, the sharp angles of his chin, and the unkemptness of his black hair; Christine could not imagine a man who looked more desirable.

And yes, even his face was handsome to her. She gazed at the black mask that he wore which covered both sides of his face, wondering why he had stopped wearing the white-half mask that revealed his unscarred cheek. Truly, this mask was much more menacing, but Christine held no fear for the man that wore it…simply longing. Longing to touch him, longing to run her lips across his brow, and over his scars, to show him again how much she loved him, how much she desired him.

Erik watched her intently, his muscles twitching from the strain of his willpower. It was all he had, to keep himself from taking two long strides and grabbing her up in his arms. No, he had to stay focused; he needed to know if what Madame Giry had told him was true.

Erik remembered the scene not very long ago when he was on the roof of the opera house and Madame Giry had just informed him of her suspicions over Christine's condition.

He didn't speak. He couldn't speak! His voice had literally been taken from him, in fact, he couldn't breathe!

Christine was pregnant? Christine…his Christine…was with child? His child?

"The babe is yours, if that is what is worrying you," Madame Giry muttered when she noticed Erik's face pale at her revelation.

Erik stared at the ballet mistress and finally let out a gasp, as if he had been under water. "How…how do you know this?"

"Erik, Christine loves you! She would not, and she has not slept with the Vicomte–"

"STOP!" he roared, causing Madame Giry to actually tremble from his outburst. "How…do…you…know…that she is with child?" he said with short, clipped words.

Madame Giry sighed softly. "All the signs are there; she has been feeling nauseous almost every morning, and has as of late, been prone to light-headedness, even fainting spells."

"That can be a case of ill nerves!" Erik growled, throwing his arms up in the air. "It proves nothing."

Madame Giry shook her head. "Erik, I am no doctor, I do not know for certain, but…as a woman, and as a mother…I know what I see, and I believe that she is with child…your child. And don't bother asking yourself how this could be…I think you know the answer to that all too well."

Erik was not one prone to blushing, but in that moment he did feel his face grow hot at the ballet mistress' coy assumption. And she was right; even now, he felt his body tremble with desire as memories of his and Christine's love making returned once more. How many nights since their first encounter had they spent in each other's arms? It was not impossible to believe that sometime during those many nights, they had created a child together. Erik had never imagined of one day becoming a father…but then, he had never imagined he would find and know love, either.

He knew the second Christine had reentered his world. He felt her presence from far away, and flew to the place where she was, gasping at the beautiful sight of her, her cheeks rosy from the cold night air, her blue eyes shimmering from happy tears, her brown ringlets, mussed and tangled, and her soft pink lips…curved into a joyous smile as she exchanged greetings with the others. And when she looked at him, as she was looking at him now…he felt as if time itself had stopped, allowing him to take in all the beauty of this moment.

And somewhere, perhaps deep within his imagination, he could hear music; beautiful, haunting music…a cantata playing, just for them.

"Erik…" Christine breathed as she looked at him, standing in the entryway of her chamber.

"Answer my question, Christine," he murmured, his voice soft, but very deep. "Is it true?"

Christine took a deep breath and lifted her head high. "No Erik, it's not."

Erik felt as if someone had punched him, hard, in the stomach, knocking all the oxygen out of his body. He had not realized, until Christine's revelation, how much the thought of having a baby with her meant to him. He feared the sort of father he would be; he knew nothing about children! What would he do? Where did one begin? But the thought of Christine's belly, swelling as each month past, and then the thought of her holding their child in her arms, nursing their son or daughter at her breast…he felt his throat tightened at the beauty of the image…and he felt his heart stop at the sudden loss of having that.

Christine noticed Erik go still. He would not look into her eyes, and the black mask made it hard for her to read his features. But she could tell something was wrong, simply by the stiff way he held himself. Perhaps he did not believe her?

"Madame Giry was so sure…" he whispered.

Christine shook her head. "No, I explained everything to Madame Giry, it was all a horrible mistake."

Erik looked up at Christine, his eyes filled with confusion and pain. A horrible mistake? She felt that being with child…his child…was a horrible mistake?

A cold feeling washed over him; could he blame her for thinking such things?

Christine bit her lip. What was wrong? Why did Erik look so upset? She thought he would be glad to know that her engagement wasn't true? "Carlotta started the whole thing," she explained.

"Carlotta?" None of this made sense. "Why would Carlotta start such rumors?" he demanded, rage beginning to boil within him.

Christine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, hearing the angry rise in his voice. "She…she is jealous that I have the lead," Christine softly explained.

Erik began pacing, every muscle taught with building rage. "And naturally she assumed that in your condition, you would not be able to perform."

Christine's brow furrowed at this. "I suppose," she murmured, although she didn't see why the announcement of her being engaged to Raoul would prevent her from performing in _Don Juan_. "Perhaps she thought the scandal would cause me to retreat from performing?" After all, the announcement of the Vicomte de Chagny being engaged to a chorus girl wasn't exactly the most flattering of news stories…especially for her.

Erik had stopped his pacing momentarily and looked at Christine with burning fury. "Yes…it would create scandal wouldn't it?" he growled. If that harpy tried to take possession of his opera, and do it by means of harming Christine in any way, shape, or form…

He reached out and gripped one of the posts of Christine's bed, causing the whole thing to shake under the force of his hand.

Christine trembled at the signs of his anger. She did not fear for herself, she truly believed that Erik would never harm her…it was him she was worried about. "But Erik, it doesn't matter now," Christine whispered, reaching out for his hand. "It isn't true, it was just a vicious rumor, I'm not–"

"DOESN'T MATTER?"

Christine jumped at the sound of Erik's roar; the whole chamber seemed to shake from the sound.

He took a deep, calming, breath, not wishing to frighten her. "Christine, forgive me, but…after everything I have witnessed recently, after…after seeing you with…" he couldn't finish the words; he hated that man so much!

Christine reached out and grasped his hand that held the bedpost, her fingers wrapping around his. "I don't love him, I never have," she quickly explained, her voice trying to sound soothing and reassuring. "I can only imagine what you must be thinking, after seeing me stay at that place, and then seeing me leave with him only last night…"

"Indeed," Erik growled. "And then hearing this news on top of all that…"

Christine felt the tears begin to slip down her cheeks, betraying her resolve not to cry. "I…I thought you would be happy," she choked, feeling the sobs grow in her throat. "I…I'm so sorry…" How he must despise her…

Her fingers loosened over his, but Erik caught her hand before it fell away. "Christine," he whispered, his fingers gently massaging hers, and his other hand moving to lift her chin up to meet his eyes. "Oh my sweet angel," he breathed, before taking her in his arms and holding her close to his chest, feeling her tremble against him, feeling her tears soak his shirt. His arms tightened even more and he rested his cheek atop her head, whispering soothing words into her hair as she sobbed against him. "Do not apologize," he whispered. "I am sorry…I behaved horribly and shouldn't have."

Christine said nothing, she just hugged him even tighter, relishing the feel of his arms around her once more, protecting her, comforting her, shielding her from all the evils that haunted them outside.

Erik ran his fingers through her hair, his lips grazing the curs, and his breath warm upon her skin. "Forgive me," he murmured. "I just…I never realized how…how wonderful the thought was, until you told me it wasn't true…"

Christine suddenly pushed herself away from him, her face contorted in confusion and horror. "W-w-what?" she gasped.

Erik stared at her in bewilderment, surprised by her sudden actions, and even more so by the look on her face. He opened his mouth, but her words cut him to the core.

"How…how can you say that?" she practically spat. "Is…is this some kind of trick? Some sort of…of sick revenge game that you are playing at?"

Erik stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. "Trick?" he breathed, before the anger clouded his eyes, nearly turning them black. "TRICK?" he roared. "YOU THINK I WOULD…" he was so disgusted, he couldn't finish his sentence. "OBVIOUSLY YOUR THOUGHTS IN REGARDS TO ME HAVE LESSONED GREATLY SINCE WE LAST WERE TOGETHER!"

Christine felt her own rage boil up and over. "DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT LESSONED THOUGHTS!" she shouted back. "I WAS NOT THE ONE WHO LIED ABOUT MY LOVE FOR YOU IN ORDER TO SEND ME AWAY!"

Erik couldn't believe this was happening. "Ah, so it's come to that, has it? I AM BEING PUNISHED, IS THAT IT? YOU'RE PUNISHING ME FOR GOING OUT OF MY WAY TO FIND YOUR FATHER, AND GIVE YOU BACK A LIFE IN THE WORLD ABOVE?"

"NO!" she screamed back at him. "BUT I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT SOMEONE LIKE YOU, WHO LIED ABOUT HIS FEELINGS TO ME TO MAKE ME LEAVE… _AND_ WHO SAID SOME HORRIBLE THINGS TO COMPLETE THE ILLUSION," she shouted, "WOULD HAVE AT LEAST BEEN MORE UNDERSTANDING WHEN I ATTEMPTED TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH!"

Erik swore under his breath. "The truth? More understanding?" he growled, dangerously low.

Christine's chest was heaving from their argument, but she glared right back at him. "Yes," she hissed.

"FINE!" Erik roared. "YOU WANT THE TRUTH? YES! YES, I LIED TO MAKE YOU LEAVE! I NEVER ONCE STOPPED LOVING YOU, THOUGH!" he shouted.

"GOOD!" Christine shouted back. "BECAUSE I NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU!"

They both stared at each other for a long moment, unsure what to say or do next.

"If you still love me," Erik murmured, "then why did I see you with the Vicomte the other night?"

Christine groaned. "My father made the arrangements. He told the Vicomte I would have dinner with him, and the ONLY reason I accepted was so I could tell him to stop attempting to court me!"

Erik stared at Christine with surprise. "Truly?"

"YES!" Christine shouted in exasperation. "Haven't you been listening to what I have been saying? I never loved the Vicomte! NEVER! You…" she murmured, her eyes focused steadily on him. "You are the only man I have ever loved…and will ever love."

Erik took a step towards her. "You mean that?" he whispered.

"Oh Erik, of course–"

"Then why did you…why did you say it didn't matter? Why did you tell me it was a horrible mistake?"

Christine stared at Erik, her head reeling with confusion. "Erik…you're not making sense!"

"You said it didn't matter! You acted as though it was…it was something awful! You're the one who is not making sense Christine!" he charged.

Christine felt her throat tighten once more. "Am I wrong?" she spat. "You're telling me you think it's a good thing?"

"YES!" Erik shouted, advancing upon her and taking her hands in his. "Yes, I do…I…in all my life…I have never heard more wonderful news!"

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's the truth!"

Their voices were rising again and they began to talk over each other.

"YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU THINK–"

"YES CHRISTINE, I AM TELLING YOU THAT IT IS A GOOD THING–"

"THAT I'M ENGAGED TO THE VICOMTE DE CHAGNY?"

"THAT YOU'RE WITH CHILD!"

Silence, far louder than any of their screams, filled the chamber with an awful din that could only be interrupted by a unison, "WHAT?"

"You're…you're engaged to the Vicomte?"

"You t-t-thought I was pregnant?"

The questions had suddenly switched sides.

Christine covered her mouth and tried to turn away, her face turning the brightest shade of red out of embarrassment and shamefulness for misunderstanding Erik's intentions, but Erik gripped her by her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "What do you mean Christine? Tell me! What were you trying to explain?"

"I…I…" she was shaking all over. Erik thought she was pregnant! Why would he think…?

_Oh God._

The nausea she had almost every morning; her sudden dizzy spells that left her feeling light-headed. She had assumed that they were all symptoms of nervousness! But how did bad nerves explain the fact that for nearly two months, she hadn't been menstruating…

"Erik…" she weakly cried, feeling her knees buckle as the realization of it all hit her like a brick wall.

He saw her face pale and her eyes widen with shock; she was assessing everything he had said…and it was then that he realized she had not known what Madame Giry had suspected…until now. Before his name left her lips, he was there, catching her before she crumpled to the ground.

Oh so gently, he laid her upon the bed, his arms never leaving her, never wanting to let her go ever again. And he couldn't if he tried; Christine gripped his shirt like a vice, needing to feel him close to her.

"Ssshh, it's alright," he whispered, his lips moving to her forehead and kissing the skin tenderly. "I'm here…I'm here, my angel."

She began to cry again, but these were not sobs of pain and misery that she had been shedding before. No, this was something completely different; she was crying out of exhaustion, for the sudden weight of everything that was crashing around her. But Erik continued to hold her close, his arms never once loosening; he would be there to hold the weight up so it would not crush her.

"Erik…" she sobbed, her small hands moving around his waist, her head burrowing further against his chest. "I…I'm so…I'm so sorry–"

"Hush," he soothed. "There is nothing for you to apologize for," he murmured into her hair.

"No, you must…you must know that I am not–"

"Engaged to the Vicomte?" he finished for her. She looked up at him, her eyes slightly pink from her crying, her cheeks moist from her tears. She was still radiant. "You said you were not, and I believe you," he murmured, his lips gently kissing her forehead once more. "I was listening to what you were telling me…I only now realize what you were trying to say."

Christine snuggled closer to him, wanting to be wrapped further in his warmth. "Everyone assumed because I had left with him the other night, that there was something happening between us," she whispered.

Erik's arms tightened around her, but not out of jealousy. After all, he had her love, what was there to be jealous about? No, he held her tight because he knew that she had been going through hell up there, in the world above. His brave angel had endured much ridicule and scrutiny over the last few weeks since she had returned. Had he known what he would have been putting her through, he would never have made her go.

"A-and Carlotta saw me wearing this," she murmured, holding up her hand which bore the ring he had given her.

Erik felt his breath catch as he saw the candlelight glow off the diamond. "You have been wearing it?" he whispered.

"Not all the time," Christine whispered, feeling somewhat ashamed. "But I have been carrying it close to me," she looked up into his eyes and smiled softly. "It's very beautiful."

Erik reached out and brushed a stray curl from her cheek. "It pales in comparison to the real jewel," he murmured, his fingers lightly playing over her skin.

A shiver went through Christine's body at his touch, and she felt her heart begin to melt at the intense way he was looking at her.

"You are very brave, my angel," he murmured, smiling down at her. "You risked revealing our love to the world by wearing my ring, and you faced a predator like the Vicomte de Chagny all by yourself. I am in awe of you, Christine."

She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity of his words. He truly thought her amazing; a strange warmth washed over her from the sweet understanding. She sighed and snuggled her head in the crook of his arm. "And…you believed I was with child?"

Erik's soft "yes" reverberated deep within his chest, and Christine felt the sound wash over her, causing her body to tremble once more.

But she knew that they needed to talk about this. She took a deep breath and moved away from him to sit up, slowly turning to face him, a nervous look in her eyes. Erik sat up immediately, seeing the concern that had washed over her face. "Christine? What's wrong?"

Christine swallowed the lump in her throat and took Erik's hand in hers, bringing it to rest on her stomach. "I…I didn't think about it until you mentioned it, but…" she looked up into his eyes, surprised to see such tender understanding reflected in them. "I…I haven't been," she glanced down, slightly embarrassed to finish the sentence. "It's been nearly two months since…well…" she looked up at him and Erik softly smiled back, understanding what she was trying to say. "I think…I think it's true…"

Erik's eyes never left hers. And his hand never left her stomach. He didn't say anything at all, but his other hand did rise to run across her cheek, before he slowly moved in, and brushed his lips across hers.

Christine moaned and returned the kiss, her own hands rising to touch his masked face. It was not as passionate as some of their previous kisses had been…but it was one of the sweetest, one of the tenderest, and one of the most beautiful, that she had ever experienced.

"Then that is wonderful news," he breathed against her mouth. She opened her eyes and looked into his own to see him smiling. He meant it; he meant every word that he had said.

"Oh Erik," Christine murmured, her smile radiant, her eyes shimmering with love and joy, her hands holding his face as she brought her mouth back up to his, moaning as she felt his lips cover hers and kiss her just as fiercely.

She was his; her heart belonged completely to him…as his heart belonged completely to her. Indeed, God had taken mercy on his miserable existence, bringing this beautiful angel into his life, returning her to him even after he forced her away. His arms wrapped around her body and he pulled her even closer, his tongue diving into the depths of her mouth as Christine whimpered his name. She tasted so sweet, so pure, he couldn't get enough.

Christine's fingers eagerly went to work with pushing his jacket off his shoulders. Erik groaned with pleasure as he felt her fingers dive into the folds of his shirt, attempting to claw the fabric away. She wanted to feel his skin, she wanted to touch him, taste him, to feel his body inside her own once.

"Christine…" he growled, his breath ragged as he leaned his forehead against hers, panting from the intense passion that was overtaking them.

"Please, make love to me Erik…" she whimpered, her lips moving across his neck as her fingers pulled at the linen of his shirt. "Please," she pleaded. "I have missed you so…"

Erik stopped her fingers by grasping her small hands in his large ones. Christine looked up at him, somewhat startled by his actions. Was something wrong? She opened her mouth to speak, but his finger was against her lips, silencing her. Christine's eyes questioned what her lips could not, and she watched, in amazed silence, as Erik released her hands, and moved to undo his mask.

He did not hesitate, he did not pause, and he did not say anything about his actions. He simply undid the ties that held his mask, and slowly, pulled it away, before looking into her eyes, his ravaged flesh unveiled for her to see.

Christine thought she would cry by the love and trust that she saw in Erik's eyes. He gasped as he felt her soft fingers rise to caress his ruined skin, and he let out a long moan of pleasure as he felt Christine's lips move across the scars. "I love you…" she whispered in his ear.

"And I love you," Erik groaned, his hands capturing Christine's beautiful face and bringing her lips to his once more. They kissed each other with a fierce passion that had too long been denied. Christine forced Erik's arms up as she pulled his shirt over his head. She gloried in the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, and moaned happily as Erik wasted no time pulling her blouse off, followed by her skirt. His expert fingers pulled at her corset strings, while hers went quickly to undo his belt.

His lips captured her breasts as they were freed from her undergarments, his tongue ravishing her nipples until she squealed his name. Erik groaned as he felt Christine's hand snake its way inside his trousers, and he thought he would lose all control when she wrapped her sweet small fingers around his hard and burning cock.

"Christine," he growled, pushing the rest of her clothes away until she lay naked upon the bed.

"Erik!" she cried, as he threw his trousers on the ground with the rest of their clothes, and his hand found her sweet secret place between her thighs, already dripping with desire for him.

Her legs spread and his body moved, and within a few desperate agonizing seconds, they were one once more, his cock buried deep inside her. "ERIK!" she cried, her nails digging into his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist, as he groaned and thrust inside her. They held each other so tightly, their hands constantly caressing, their lips constantly tasting, and their bodies moving more and more rapidly. This was a passion that could not be denied, a love that would never be denied. Two wandering souls, trapped in darkness, which had found each other through music.

Their passionate cries filled the chamber as the climax overtook them both. Erik collapsed atop his beloved, his sweat mingling with her own, his chest heaving along with hers, his heart beating to her rhythm. "Oh Christine," he panted, his lips moving across her flesh. She happily moaned his name and captured his lips with hers once more. They kissed deeply, their bodies still joined and their limbs tangled, both with each other and the sheets.

Nothing was going to part them now, not Carlotta's rumors, not Raoul's attempts, and not even their own foolish misunderstanding.

 

* * *

 

"I hate this."

"Will you be quiet?"

"No!" the first officer protested, extremely tempted to kick his partner. They had both managed to roll away the large rock that blocked the supposed entrance to the crawl space which now they were traveling. The first officer, much to his reluctance, had gone in first, and spent much of the time complaining about how sore his palms and knees were from the crawling. "Should have just gone to the Vicomte when we had the chance," he muttered.

"Will you stop complaining?" the second officer muttered. "And perhaps spend more of your time moving instead!"

The first officer was well prepared to turn and give in to the temptation of kicking his partner, when something caused him to pause.

Voices.

And he swore he could see a dim light up ahead.

Without any further word, he crawled towards the dim light, and he realized that the space opened up to what looked like a large pipe. Shadows played across the wall just beyond the pipe's exit, and the officer realized that the light was coming from a fire. His suspicions were confirmed as the smell of burning wood filled his nostrils.

"What are you doing?" the second officer groaned.

"Shut up!" the first officer hissed. "I hear something…"

Very carefully, the first officer crawled as silently as possible towards the end of the pipe. His ears were perked as he listened to various sentences he could make out from the voices below.

"–I hope that the Master and Christine clear things up."

"–so nice to have her back! I have missed her so!"

"–I m-m-met Christine's f-f-father…he's v-v-very nice."

"–how long do you think she'll stay this time?"

The officer held his breath as very slowly, very carefully, he poked his head around the pipe's exit just far enough so he could get a glimpse of who was talking.

He had to bite his tongue, quite literally, to keep from gasping at the sight of the freaks before him.

"What do you see?" the second officer whispered.

The first officer began to crawl backwards, and the second officer, instead of questioning what was going on, quickly moved backwards as well, and said nothing further until they reached the end of the tunnel, and were once more on the other side of the crawl space. "WHAT? What did you see?"

"Good Lord," the first officer gasped. "There are four of them!"

"Four of what?"

"Freaks! Monsters! Just like that big one we were following tonight!"

The second officer paled. "All just as big as he?"

"No, not literally like him…but…" he shuddered at the memory. "One was a dwarf, another had…well, he looked like some sort of ape! All arms and no feet. And then there was this beast of a man who was covered from head to foot in tattoos…and he had a hook for a hand!"

The second officer eyed his partner with some disbelief. "You're joking…"

"Do I LOOK like I'm joking?"

The second officer saw by the horror in the other man's eyes, and knew that this was indeed no joke; somewhere, beneath the earth, lived monsters! "What about the girl?"

"Didn't see her," the first officer explained. "Maybe…maybe they killed her?"

The second officer shook his head. "Why would they kill her if she knew them?"

"I don't know!" the first officer protested. "They're monsters! Who knows what they would do?" He shook his head, the image of those creatures still flashing across his eyes. "What now?"

The second officer couldn't help but smile at his partner. " _Now_ , we send word to the Vicomte."

 


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Christine give in to the pent up emotions they have been feeling for weeks...and Raoul begins to experience the bitter taste of jealousy...

_**Emotion** _

For the first time in what felt like centuries…things were right.

Erik moaned as he felt something soft run across his leg. Without opening his eyes, he moved his hand to touch the object, and a content smile spread across his face as his fingers wrapped around a shapely smooth thigh.

He moved his head, and found curls tickling his nose. He moaned again as he felt sweet lips kiss the muscles on his chest, before feeling her soft smooth cheek rest once more against him. His other hand rose to tangle in her hair, and his lips found her brow, brushing a gentle kiss across the skin.

Yes, for the first time in far too long, things were right.

"I've missed this," Christine murmured, purring contentedly as she felt Erik's fingers caress her arm, which lay across his chest.

"So have I," he whispered, his fingers finding her hand, and bringing it to his lips. "It has been far too long."

Christine smiled and turned her head, so that her chin rested on his chest and she could look into his eyes. "Let's make a promise, here and now, to never let our own foolishness part us again…ever."

Erik smiled down at her and squeezed her hand tenderly. "Agreed."

Christine grinned and snuggled her head once more against him, her mass of chocolate curls blanketing his chest. "I must thank my father for his wisdom in telling me to come here."

Erik's fingers stilled momentarily by her announcement. "Your father told you to come here?" Had he heard her correctly? The very man who had a right to despise him…encouraged his beautiful daughter to return to her beast? "You told your father about us?"

"Well…not everything," Christine giggled with a slight blush. "But I did tell him how it was you who found him, who gave me the money to release him, and…" she smiled and reached up to run her fingers across his disfigured flesh, "…how you are the man I love with my whole heart."

Erik held his breath as Christine revealed everything that had transpired between her and her father. "And…how did he react to this news?"

Christine's smile was radiant, and she leaned up to brush her lips across his. "Very well, actually," she grinned. "My father was fooled by the Vicomte; he believed Raoul to be an absolute gentleman, and that we owed our lives to him. But I have been able to make him see reason, as well as the truth, and today, when I told him about you…he could see how deeply my love was…and he believed me when I told him that you loved me," Christine laced her fingers through Erik's, and nestled her head over his chest so that she could hear his heart beating. "My father is a good man, Erik, and as any good father, he wants the best for me…and he knows that the best for me is to be with someone whom I love and respect," she smiled as she looked up at him. "So he gave me his blessing, and encouraged me to come to you, and to not leave until you heard my feelings."

Erik couldn't help but smile down at her, his fingers now tracing her cheek. "Now I understand where your power of amazement comes from," he murmured. "And in all honesty, it's still hard for me to fathom. Your father has a right to hate me, revile me, and distrust me, especially now that I have seduced his one and only child."

"My father believes me when I tell him that you are not the same man as you were that day you took me prisoner," Christine soothed. "And he can see that for himself, especially after I explained that it was through you that I knew where to find you. He is thankful to you for reuniting us…but he said so himself, he could not bear the thought of keeping you and I apart. He has accepted my choice, Erik," Christine whispered, bringing Erik's hand that was still entwined with her own, to her lips. "He has accepted us."

Erik found himself wondering if this was all some elaborate dream; for the first time in his life, everything that was happening to him was good. After a childhood spent in a cage, and twenty years spent in the cold dark bowels of the Paris Opera House…he was finally receiving everything he could have ever hoped and dreamed for…but had been too cynical to try. He did not deserve God's mercy…but he would forever be thankful for it.

"I never truly doubted, you know," she murmured, her head once again settling on his chest. "There was always a part of me that believed that you were lying, when you sent me away…"

A frown shadowed Erik's face. "Christine, I'm so sorry for that night, I don't deserve your forgiv–"

Her lips stopped him from apologizing further. Erik could not help but welcome the kiss, his hands holding her lovely face to his, until his lungs burned for air. She smiled down at him, and let her lips trail across his scars. "It is forgotten," she whispered. "I know that you did it all because you wanted me to be with my father…and you thought you were doing the right thing, letting me return above–"

Erik's hands lifted her face away so he could look directly into her eyes. "It does not change the fact that I hurt you, Christine," he softly said, his eyes filled with shame and sadness. "And for that, I will never forgive myself. You have a right to hate me–"

"But I don't," Christine reassured, her eyes shimmering with love for him. "We have hurt each other in ways we're not proud of…but despite all that, our love has never lessoned. It has led us back to this place, it has led us back to each other!" she smiled and bent her lips to kiss his once more. "Let us learn from our mistakes, but not let them rule us."

Erik knew that no matter how many years he lived, there would never be a day where Christine wouldn't amaze him in some way. "I thought God had abandoned me," he whispered in awe as his fingers traced the soft contours of her face. "But here you are, my angel...with me, here, now…"

"And my heart too," Christine whispered back, feeling fresh tears of joy brim in her eyes. "But it has never left this place…it has always been with you."

Erik's fingers tangled in her hair once more and he brought her lips down to his, drinking in her essence, her sweetness, yearning for his taste of heaven. Christine giggled against his mouth as she felt him role her over onto her back, his body moving over hers once more. "Why, Monsieur Phantom," she whispered coyly, "I did not realize you were…up…to three performances a night."

"Amazing what the right audience will do to increase one's stamina, don't you think, mademoiselle?" he growled, his teeth softly biting the flesh of her neck. Christine gasped and plunged her fingers into his hair as she felt his own fingers slide between her legs and run across her damp lips, before sinking inside the moist folds of her body. When his thumb brushed the sensitive nub of her clitoris, she nearly screamed, and her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into the flesh.

Erik let out a sudden hiss of pain, and Christine's eyes flew open at the sound. "Oh! Erik, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

He glanced at his shoulder, seeing a small prick on the skin, and then at her hand which had been gripping him mere seconds ago. It was her left hand…the one that bore his ring.

"Erik?"

"It's alright," he reassured, "Just a scratch caused by the diamond."

Christine looked at her finger and began to blush furiously. "I am so sorry Erik; I'll remove it at once–"

But his fingers stopped her, and Christine looked up to see his eyes gazing at her with loving wonder. He began to sit up and away from her, and Christine went with him, her hands holding tightly to his. "Erik? Is something wrong?"

Emotion was welling up deep in his chest. "No…for the first time in my life…everything is so right." He had found love, and even more extraordinary, his angel loved him in return, despite the scars of his face and past. "Christine…do you remember the night I came to you?"

Christine blushed furiously at the memory. "That song was so haunting…so beautiful…I thought I must be dreaming," she whispered. It had perhaps been one of the most sensual and erotic experiences of her life. "But I wasn't," she murmured, gazing into his eyes, before looking down at the ring on her finger. "You left me this, so that I would know of your presence."

Erik shook his head. "I left you that so you would know of my intentions," his large hands enfolded both of hers. "Christine, the song you heard…was a gift of mine, to you."

"A gift?"

"Yes, a song that I had been writing for…months really, a tune that would not leave my head," he explained. "A song that you inspired shortly after we began our lessons…and it continued to grow, until I could not hold it inside me any longer, and I had to write it down." He paused and looked down at her hand, his fingers, large and calloused, delicately tracing her much smaller and softer hands. "On the night I sent you away…I had intended to sing you that song…" he looked into her eyes and almost lost his breath as he saw her love and understanding reflected back. "And I had also intended to give you this…" he whispered, his thumb running across the ring. "Even after you left…the song wouldn't die. I burned it, even destroyed the piano where I had composed it…and yet the music, the lyrics, everything…it refused to be forgotten."

Christine thought she might choke on the emotion that was bubbling up in her throat. She was trembling, not from cold or fear, but from pure emotion…and anticipation.

"During those dark days that past, when my world of music had become a sarcophagus, I truly wanted to die," his gaze caught hers, and Christine bit her lip to keep herself from protesting. She understood that he needed to finish this first. "And then, on that day when I heard your voice on stage, singing my music, I felt my strength return…and I realized that I did not want to die, I did not want to disappear…I wanted you, I needed you. And the song blazed through me, like wildfire," he lifted her hands to his lips and gently kissed them. "I had to share my song with you. I could not wait another moment…I came to you that night, and when I held you, when I felt your kiss…my doubts, my fears, were squashed in that moment, and I felt hope come alive within me."

Christine felt the tears trickle down her cheeks as his gaze captured hers once more, his hands bringing hers to rest against his chest. She could feel his heart; it was beating rapidly, just as hers was.

"All my life, I have been called many things: murderer, monster, madman…and I all my life, I have believed I was nothing more. Until you trespassed into my world, showed me the depths of your love, of your passion, and awakened what little good I possessed with the beauty of your voice…Christine Daae, I would be lost without you. You are my angel, my muse, my savior, and my equal in so many ways." Christine held her breath as his next words slipped past his lips. "Now I am asking you…will you also be my wife?"

She couldn't speak. Her voice had literally been robbed from her! And she couldn't move! It was as if the world around her had frozen and time itself had stopped.

Erik was holding his breath, awaiting his beloved's answer. It had not been the most romantic of proposals; he knew he should have gone down on one knee, despite the fact that he was naked–

"YES!"

The sudden outburst from the woman before him shocked Erik to the core, and before he could respond, Christine had launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and knocking him backwards on the bed. "Yes! Oh yes! If you wish to have me, a silly country girl practically twenty years younger, who is often stubborn, and–"

All other words were lost as Erik rolled her over onto her back and was kissing her deeply. "A simple 'yes' will suffice," he teased, laughing as she purposely pushed him off her, so that she could pin him down and tower over him.

Christine couldn't help but share in his loving laughter. "I can't believe it," she giggled. "I had come here hoping that you would hear me out, hoping that you would believe me when I told you that my leaving with the Vicomte de Chagny meant nothing…and now I find myself engaged!"

Erik smiled up at her and ran his fingers along her cheek. "Oh my sweet angel…I promise to take care of you, to give you everything I have, so that you will want for nothing." He took her hands in his once more. "My wealth does not match the Vicomte's by any capacity, but I do have enough to afford us a comfortable and some-what stylish house here in Paris."

Christine's eyes widened at his words. "A…a house?"

"Of course," Erik chuckled. "I can't have my bride, and the new star of the Paris Opera House, living in a cave for the rest of her life now, can I?"

"But Erik," Christine's eyes were filled with genuine concern. "What of the others?"

Erik's brow furrowed at her question. "They will come with us, of course," he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "After all…they are the closest thing I have in this world to a family. And your father too, if you think he will not mind?"

Christine's eyes were alight with hope. "Oh no, I do not think Papa will object, but Erik, you…you think the others will be alright with this idea?"

Erik sighed, foreseeing the hardships ahead. "It will take much convincing for Jacque…and we will not be able to keep a staff I'm afraid–"

"I don't mind," Christine cut in. "My father and I have a maid, and while she is very sweet, I am not used to being waited on."

"Well you'll just have to get used to that," Erik growled seductively. "I intend to serve my lady in any way that I see fit…"

Christine giggled and purred happily as Erik's arms wrapped around her back, pulling her down onto the bed, and rolling over until he was on top once more. He kissed her deeply, his tongue teasing hers, and his hands already working their sensual spell on her flesh. "Oh Erik…" Christine whimpered. "I'm so happy…I…I have never been more happy."

Erik paused his kisses and gazed into her tear filled eyes, enchanted by their innocence and beauty. One hand lay flat on her stomach, and he imagined the baby that was already growing inside. His baby, the child he had created with Christine. It frightened him, the responsibility and the expectation of such an event in his life…and yet he meant what he had said earlier when he held Christine in his arms. It was truly, the most wonderful news he had ever been given.

"I know," Christine whispered, her hand coming to rest over his. "I'm scared too. But we shall have each other."

Erik felt his own tears sting the corners of his eyes. "Do…do you think that…that he or she will…" he couldn't finish the words. He only prayed that the child would not look anything like him.

Christine's fingers brushed over his scars, and her gaze caught and held Erik's tenderly. "He, or she, will be beautiful. They will have their father's passion for music, and their mother's talent with needle and pin."

Erik found himself chuckling to Christine's joke. "They will have their mother's beautiful voice," he corrected, "as well as her talent with needle and pin."

Christine shared in his laughter. "And Lord help us, both our temperaments."

Both of them laughed together, before giving way at last to the passions they held inside. The candlelight flickered and washed their bodies in a warm orange glow as they made love once more. If this were a dream, they both prayed that their slumber would never end.

 

* * *

 

Raoul sipped the brandy from his glass, his eyes focused on the flames that flickered in his fireplace. At the other end of the library, the clock chimed the late hour. It was nearly dawn.

He had not been awake this whole time, only for a few hours, really. His tired butler roused him out of bed, announcing that there were two police officers at the door demanding that they speak with the Vicomte at once. Raoul said nothing to explain the late night interruption; he pulled on his dressing gown and went into the library where he awaited the two officers.

As he poured himself a glass of brandy, he listened to their tale of how they had followed Christine and the mysterious hunchbacked monster all the way to the Paris Opera House. Raoul's suspicions were heightened further as the officers told him that both Christine and the beast disappeared down a sewer tunnel that ran directly beneath the opera house. They continued their pursuit, discovering a pair of muddy footprints that led to a secret underground passage, which fed into a large hollowed-out cavern.

"Four of them?" Raoul asked in bewilderment, after one of the officers described everything he had seen and heard.

"Yes, monsieur, four of the ugliest, most hideous monsters you can imagine! A dwarf woman with a baggy face, a man who moved by dragging his body by his hands, the hunchback that we followed, and a man covered head to toe in tattoos–"

"–Don't forget the hook!"

"I was getting to that!" the officer growled at his partner. "And where one of his hands should be, he instead has a rusty hook!"

Raoul's brow furrowed at this. "Did any of them wear a mask?"

The first officer shook his head. "No mask in all the world could help any of them."

_They didn't see the Phantom_ , Raoul concluded. None of those creatures sounded anything like the Phantom–freaks and monsters, yes, but not the Phantom. Yet somehow, he knew they were connected to that masked fiend.

"And Mademoiselle Daae?" he inquired. "Where was she?"

The officers glanced at one another and the first one looked down at his boots nervously. "We…that is, I…did not see her with them, monsieur."

Something cold and dangerous flashed in Raoul's eyes at the officer's revelation. "I see," he murmured, tapping his fingers along the arm of his chair. "And what were the instructions that I left for you, when I asked you to do this for me?"

The two officers glanced at one another. "You…you asked us to keep watch–"

"TO KEEP WATCH ON BOTH OF THEM!" Raoul roared, throwing his brandy glass into the fireplace, the flames bursting to new life as the alcohol made contact. The two officers jumped at the Vicomte's actions, and began blubbering apologies.

"She disappeared, monsieur! We tried to keep watch on both of them, honest we tried, but–"

"Save me your excuses," Raoul muttered with disgust, rising to pour himself a new glass of brandy. "It's obvious that these creatures are minions of some kind to that fiend," he growled. "And Christine knew that one monster all too well."

"W-w-what do you think it means, monsieur?" one of the officers tentatively asked.

Raoul downed his brandy in one swift gulp. "I don't know," he rasped, "but I'm beginning to form a picture…and it's not one I like." He turned to the two officers, who were slightly trembling under his menacing gaze. "Go and inform your chief inspector about everything you witnessed. Explain that the creature that was causing havoc at Notre Dame lives below the opera house with others like him. And tell Inspector LeDue that these monsters are a danger to society…but, do not do anything until I give the word."

The two officers glanced at one another before looking back at Raoul with hopes for more clarification to his plan. "What do you intend to do, monsieur?"

Raoul turned his back on the officers and gazed into the fire. "Whatever it takes…" he growled, low and menacingly. A few minutes later, Raoul was alone once more in the library. It would have been impossible to go back to bed; he couldn't sleep now, not with such thoughts running through his head.

She knew that monster; she had called it by name. And the monster knew her.

His pretty Christine was keeping secrets from him, and Raoul detested secrets.

Thoughts began to flash through his mind. Christine's appearance at the masquerade ball, the lies she spun while in his presence, and how willingly she went into the arms of Red Death. And then her sudden reappearance at the police station only a few weeks ago; how did she know that her father was being kept there? Madame Giry didn't even know that Daae was being kept there, so how on earth did she learn the truth? And now this…her desperateness to free a monster, and her mysterious midnight stroll with the creature, which led all the way back to the Paris Opera House, revealing a hidden world that lay beneath the mighty structure.

Indeed, Raoul recalled the stories that the stagehands spun, as well as the inquiries of his private investigator; the Phantom lived somewhere beneath the opera house. And based on the information that he had received that evening, there was a way inside the madman's world that contained no booby traps to stop them.

Raoul knew he should be ecstatic at the thought of finally knowing a way to infiltrate and capture the villain, but there was still something that bothered him, something that caused his stomach to twist, something that caused his face to burn…

Where had Christine gone after delivering the monster to its home?

She couldn't have left, at least not the same way that she had gone. Perhaps she gone out a different way, a way through the opera house? That still didn't bring him comfort; it meant that she had–his blood chilled at this thought–it meant that she had been lying to him this whole time.

She never escaped the Phantom, because the Phantom had never been a danger to her!

What had gone on down there, beneath the Paris Opera House, during all those months she had been missing?

Raoul stomach tightened at the sickening thought. He gripped the mantle above the fireplace and fought the bile that was rising in his throat.

"Monsieur?"

Raoul turned at the sound of the feminine voice from behind him. A girl stood in the doorway of the library, a hooded cape covering her head.

"Ah, come in Marguerite," Raoul greeted, as the maid removed her cape, her fiery red hair spilling over her shoulders. "Have a seat my dear, and tell me all the news that you bring from the Daae residence…"

 


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As opening night approaches, Raoul's evil plans begin to take form...and the danger that has been lurking, begins to grow...

_**Dangerous** _

A soft purr escaped Christine's lips as she felt the sun's warm rays fall across her face. Her eyes slowly fluttered opened, and a content smile spread across her lips as she gazed at the pillow next to her.

Had this been yesterday, she may have awoken with a start, surprised to see her surroundings. Had this been yesterday, she may have felt tears sting her eyes as she realized that the beautiful passion she had experienced had only been a dream. Had this been yesterday, her melancholy would still be with her…

But this was not yesterday, it was today, a new day in her life, a day that marked the beginning of a new life altogether.

She was in her bed, back at the apartment, and she was very much alone. But lying on the pillow beside her lay a single red rose, and Christine only smiled further as her fingers softly touched the flower's silken petals. She had no memory of him bringing her back; there was something mysterious and magical about Erik, and a part of her never wanted to discover how he was able to create the illusions he had become a master of. The rose was his promise; his promise of love, his promise of devotion, and his promise that they would soon, very soon, be together again once more.

"Christine!"

The sound of her father's frantic voice startled the young woman, and she rose from her bed at once, wrapping her dressing gown around her just as her father opened the door. "Oh! Thank God, you are here," he sighed with relief as he entered her room. "I did not hear you come in last night," he hastily added.

Christine flushed brightly at his words. "Neither did I, Papa," she softly murmured, a knowing smile stealing its way across her face. Her father didn't hear her, so she quickly concealed her smile and tried to look serious as she could tell her father was extremely troubled by something. "Is something the matter?"

"What?" he had been lost in his thoughts, his brow furrowed as he contemplated a piece of paper that he held in his hands. "Oh! Oh no, I mean…well, that is to say…" he was extremely flustered. "Christine, last night…" he looked at her and saw the blush in her cheeks. "I…I am assuming you took my advice?"

Christine blushed even further, but her smile could no longer remain concealed and it broke forth, radiating such joyous light. "Yes," she simply said, not being able to hide her grin, even when her hand rose to cover it.

Her father smiled softly, but his brow still remained furrowed with confusion. "Well…perhaps then you can help me make sense of this…" He handed his daughter the piece of paper that he had been holding and fussing over.

Christine took the paper and began reading its contents to see what concerned him. "Dear monsieur," she began, "I am by no means knowledgeable in such customs, so I hope you shall forgive me if I come across as frank or too bold. Yet perhaps this is the best way when talking about such subjects," she paused, looking at her father with the same confusion.

"Go on," he murmured, pacing back and forth across the room.

"I know that you are a good and honorable man who has much love for his daughter," she continued. "And I also know that you have a right to despise me with your last breath, if you so wish it. What I did to you was unforgivable, and I would not blame you at all if you chose to hate me…and yet I find hope rising within me as I write this." Christine paused again and looked at her father with curious eyes. "Papa?"

"Go on," he encouraged, his pacing coming to a stop and his eyes fixing on Christine's face as she continued to read.

"I shall get to the point. I have asked your daughter, and she has given me her consent, and has told me of your blessing, but I wish to boldly ask of it myself…by seeking your permission to marry your beautiful daughter…" Christine paused and held her breath, her eyes slowly rising from the letter to her father's face.

There were many emotions she expected to see reflected in his eyes; seeing the tears streaming down his face was not one of them.

"Oh Christine," he sobbed, falling to his knees and grasping her hands up in his. "I…I…" he couldn't finish his words, he was crying too hard.

Christine bit her lip, unsure what to say. Was her father pleased? She remembered how he had told her only last night that he wanted her to follow her heart, to be with the man she loved…but perhaps after she had gone, he had second thoughts? After all, her father's only memory of the Phantom had been a cold-blooded madman, not the man she knew. "Papa…" she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Are…are you displeased?"

Her father looked up at her with wide eyes. "Displeased?" his hands framed her face and Christine's worries melted away as she saw the joyful smile spread across her father's old worn face. "Oh my dear, I…I confess, he is not exactly the man I always envisioned as my future son-in-law…but…" he looked into her eyes and brushed a stray curl from her brow. "I can see your love for him in your eyes…and I can also see his love for you reflected there, as well as in these words," he chuckled. "It goes on actually," he explained, picking up the letter. "He tells me about how he intends to take care of you, that he is willing to find a house in Paris so that you will not be shut away from sunlight, and he even offers that I may stay if I wish…" he smiled in awe and then looked at his daughter once more. "What did you do to him Christine? How…how did you change that monstrous Phantom into…into this gentleman?"

Christine blushed but smiled at her father with such happiness. "I think he was always a gentleman Papa, he just…didn't have many opportunities to practice."

They both found themselves chuckling, and Daae, smiling with such pride and happiness for his daughter, rose to his feet and helped Christine up. "Come, we have a long day before us! And I dare say that you will want to get to the opera house early today…you have much explaining to do for the managers."

Christine grimaced at the idea. Her sudden disappearance did not bode well for her, and she knew that if they were not following the Phantom's instructions, or opening in two days, they would easily dismiss her from the company.

And that was when a sudden realization struck Christine. "Papa, I spoke with Madame Giry yesterday. She has offered to help us find a place to stay, and has offered that for tonight, we may stay at her home."

Daae looked at Christine with utter confusion. "Stay with her? But why–"

"Because I told Raoul we would no longer need his charity."

Daae paled slightly at his daughter's revelation. "But…but I thought you said that he did not understand your meaning when you spoke with him that night?"

Christine let out a sigh of frustration, remembering how Raoul attempted to kiss her, praising her for her what he thought was her "selfless concern for him" because she was poor. She remembered how she had punched Carlotta that night her father disappeared, and how good it felt; she wanted to do nothing more than punch that arrogant grin off Raoul's face.

"He was at the police station yesterday, when I went to free Rudolph," she calmly explained.

Daae's eyes widened further at her revelation. Raoul had been at the station? Whatever for? Daae did not care for the many secrets the Vicomte de Chagny seemed to be keeping. "What happened?"

Christine sighed again and rolled her eyes. "I was desperate to get Rudolph out of there. So desperate that…that I accepted Raoul's offer of bringing us here in his carriage."

Daae closed his eyes and softly groaned. He remembered how his daughter once said she believed that the Vicomte's charity did not come without a price; he could understand that now. "He didn't…he didn't hurt you or threaten you, did he?"

"No," Christine quickly reassured. "But…oh Papa, if you had heard some of the things he had said yesterday, you would have realized how much of a gentleman he is not," she affirmed. "He said some horrible things about Rudolph right in Rudolph's presence! And I could not stand it further, I just…I told him that you and I would not be needing his charity any longer, and left," she softly explained.

Daae nodded his head at his daughter's words, but he was still troubled by this turn of events. He could not stop speculating what Raoul had been doing at the police station. Ever since Christine had told him about the amount of money the Phantom had given her, money that was well over the amount needed to release him, he had been having sneaking suspicions that Raoul's involvement with his release from prison was not as "chivalrous" as it may have appeared.

"You are quite right, my dear," he murmured. "We must remove ourselves from this place immediately, it would not do for us to be here any longer than necessary."

Christine nodded her head, seeing the growing concern in her father's eyes. "I feel horrible, taking advantage of Madame Giry's hospitality once more, but at the time, I did not know who to go to–"

"It will be alright, my dear," Daae reassured, taking her hand in his and giving it a tender squeeze. "But right now, we must concentrate on two things: getting ready for today's rehearsal…and getting out of this place." He turned to the doorway and cried out Marguerite's name. Normally, the pretty maid would appear before the words had entirely left the caller's mouth, but today, she did not magically emerge. "That's funny," Daae murmured. "Marguerite!"

Suddenly, in a fluster of thunderous footsteps, her hair spilling out in wisps from her cap, Marguerite appeared, her cheeks rosier than normal. "I'm so sorry, monsieur! I did not hear you at first, I do apologize–"

"It's alright, dear girl," Daae reassured, his face showing a kind smile. "My daughter and I must hasten to the opera house, but in our absence, would you be so kind as to pack our things?"

Marguerite stared at Daae as if he had grown a third eye. "I b-b-beg your p-pardon?"

"Mademoiselle Daae and I will be leaving this place–"

"Leaving?" Marguerite gasped, her face paling at the old man's revelation.

Christine took immediate notice of the girl's reaction, and felt something uneasy twist inside her.

Marguerite quickly regained her composure and forced a pretty smile. "Forgive me, monsieur…b-but have…have I upset or displeased either you or mademoiselle?"

"Oh no my dear!" Daae hastened to reassure the girl. "But we have trespassed on the good Vicomte's hospitality long enough. We would not wish to burden him further, so if you could please, pack up our few possessions for us and when we return later this evening, we shall fetch them and be on our way."

Marguerite's face was as white as a sheet. She numbly nodded her head and gave Christine's father a polite curtsy, before turning and leaving to prepare packing their things at once. Within a few short minutes, the old man and his daughter had left, and Marguerite silently watched them out of one of the windows as they disappeared from view. With a squeak of desperation, she flew to the parlor, and sat down at an elegant cherry wood desk that sat in one corner of the room. Inside the desk, the maid found paper, ink, and pen, and immediately went to work writing a hasty note. She folded the paper over, wrote the address on one side, and then quickly took some wax, melted it over the note, and sealed it with the Vicomte de Chagny's own seal. After quickly blowing on the wax to cool it, she flew down the stairs that led to the front door of the building.

"You there, boy!" she cried, spying a boy who looked to be eleven or twelve. The boy was an obvious messenger, he carried several letters in his hand, and he paused reluctantly to look at the maid. "I need you to deliver this to the Vicomte de Chagny," she explained, pointing to the address on the paper.

The boy's eyes widened as he looked at the address. It was in one of the most elegant parts of Paris! "Do it quickly," Marguerite ordered, placing a copper coin in the boy's hand. The boy simply nodded and took off down the street as if someone were chasing him. The maid sighed, glad that she was able to get the message off to her master, but already dreading his reaction once he learned that the Daae's were leaving. When that moment came, she would only be too glad that she was not the pretty brunette.

 

* * *

 

"You have some nerve," the older chief inspector growled, his eyes narrowed as he glared at the handsome blonde nobleman who stood opposite of him in his tiny office.

"Someone had to take charge," Raoul calmly replied, exhaling a large cloud of smoke from his nostrils.

"I am the chief inspector here!" LeDue practically shouted.

"Then start acting like one!" Raoul retorted, his voice dripping with disgust.

Behind the Vicomte, sitting and blubbering in a corner, were the two officers that had given Raoul the news about the Phantom's lair. Every now and then LeDue would cast his eye at them, glaring with such fury. "I can't believe that the two of you went along with this!" he grumbled. "I should remove you from your duties for this insolence!"

"Oh leave them alone," Raoul groaned, inhaling deeply from his cigar. "They were only doing their duty."

LeDue's eyes widened at the Vicomte's words. "Their duty!"

Raoul nodded his head as if his statement were obvious. "Of course. They were following a monster, a madman who had broken into Notre Dame believing himself to be a fictional character."

"No thanks to you!" LeDue grumbled, collapsing into his chair.

Raoul put on a look of mocked hurt. "I had nothing to do with the monster's release. That was entirely the girl's doing; she paid over 300 franks for that creature."

LeDue practically choked. "300 franks! Where on earth did she get such money! I thought you said she was poor?"

"For the time being," Raoul murmured.

"And why on earth would this Daae girl want to release such a monster!"

One of the officers sitting in the corner piped up. "S-s-she did seem to know the beast, chief inspector."

"That's right!" the other added. "She called him by name! Um…Rudolph, I think."

Raoul turned back to LeDue whose expression was somewhere between confusion and annoyance at his officers. "It's obvious that Mademoiselle Daae has a sympathetic heart for lunatics," he calmly stated, sitting in a chair opposite of LeDue. "And while we can praise her for her Christian charities, let us not forget that this creature did attack several of your officers after he frightened a poor monk," he turned to one of the officers behind him. "Weren't you there when you took him in?"

The first officer stood up, eagerly nodding his head. "Yes! That's right, I was! And you're quite right, monsieur, he was a madman! He picked several men up and threw them across the tower! He had the strength of a bear! It took ten of us to bring him in!"

"That's right," Raoul agreed, as if he had been there himself. "And you had no power to withhold Mademoiselle Daae from purchasing the monster's freedom…but," he turned to look at LeDue, "they did have power to make sure that the creature did not bring any further harm to anyone else."

LeDue glared back at the Vicomte. "Perhaps you should simply tell me what it is that you are suggesting, monsieur," he grumbled.

Raoul turned back to the two officers and nodded his head. The shorter and fatter officer stood up, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, as he spoke to his chief inspector. "W-we followed the girl and the creature, until they stopped just across the street from the Paris Opera House…"

LeDue groaned; he could tell where this was going.

"The two disappeared through a sewer vent in the street," the officer continued. "And despite my own reluctance…we followed."

"Tell your chief inspector what it is that you saw," Raoul encouraged.

The officer nodded his head and quickly continued. "Well, we noticed a little ways further on, a pair of giant footprints that led off in a different direction. We followed them, believing they belonged to the monster…and discovered a secret tunnel."

"And what was beyond that tunnel?" Raoul asked, leaning forward for the man to finish his report.

"There was a boulder…we pushed it away a-a-and crawled down this dark tunnel…and…I…I saw…" the memories flashed before him once more, causing the man to shudder.

"Tell him," Raoul practically growled. "Tell him what you saw…"

"M-more monsters," the officer practically gasped. "There were more monsters, and the hunchback was with them!"

"Ah ha! See?" Raoul shouted, his voice filled with triumph, before turning and facing LeDue once more. "There are more of those things living below the Paris Opera House!"

LeDue stared with wide-eyed disbelief at his officer. "You're quite certain?"

"Oh yes, chief inspector!" the officer nodded. "All different kinds too! There was one man…oh he was a horror to behold, covered with tattoos and piercings…and he was missing a hand! He had a hook instead!"

LeDue's eyes narrowed at the information. "Are you sure you hadn't been drinking?"

Raoul groaned and flicked his cigar on the chief inspector's desk. "They were perfectly sober, and do not disregard this!" he warned. "Think about it LeDue! There are monsters…more of those mad creatures like that one you had imprisoned, living underneath the Paris Opera House!"

"It's true!" the officer agreed. "I…I saw blankets, a-a-and beds! They are living down there!"

LeDue's brow furrowed. "Beds? These creatures actually sleep in beds?"

Raoul rose and slammed his fists down on the man's desk. "You're missing the point! That thing you had imprisoned was a madman! Think of the damage it would have caused had it been aggravated last night? Now imagine more of those things! What if they chose to come above? Think of the havoc, of the terror they would cause!"

LeDue could see the Vicomte's point. "But why is it that they haven't come above before?"

"Who knows?" Raoul cried out, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "But do keep in mind that one of them has come above now…and who knows how long it will be before others follow…"

LeDue felt a shiver go down his spine. "I do not understand how this concerns you, monsieur," he grumbled, looking up at Raoul's pacing figure.

"It concerns me most greatly," Raoul quietly replied, before drawing an item out from the inside of his coat's pocket and tossing it on the chief inspector's desk.

LeDue looked down at the item the Vicomte had thrown and narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What the devil…?" he picked up the noose that Raoul had shown. "You took evidence out of my station!"

"That's not the one your men found around my neck," Raoul clarified. "It comes from the Paris Opera House…and has a morbid tale to go with it."

LeDue looked confused. "But…this looks just like–"

"Yes it does," Raoul smiled softly. "Fascinating, isn't it? The noose that had been used to take my life looks exactly like the noose this one stagehand possessed after a horrifying encounter with the murderous Phantom?"

LeDue groaned, his suspicions earlier being confirmed. "Monsieur, please, you can not possibly–"

"Oh but I do!" Raoul cheerfully interrupted, before drawing several papers out from his coat pocket. "Let me see…ah yes, here we are. 'April 19, 1860, the body of a man was found, hanging from the scaffolds above the stage, at the Paris Opera House. Several witnesses report seeing the man being thrown by a dark figure, after he was strangled with a curious piece of rope.'" Raoul paused and smiled at LeDue, whose face had gone as white as a sheet. "Ah, here's another. 'October 23, 1864, body of a man was found locked in one of opera house coat closets. Body had rough red marks around the neck and throat, as if it had been strangled, while there was also a note attached to the man's coat that simply said: Heed My Warnings.'" Raoul paused again and looked at the chief inspector. "There are a few more, shall I continue?"

"WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE?" LeDue roared, reaching out and snatching up the papers Raoul had been reading.

The Vicomte did not react, he allowed the man to take away the reports he had been reading. Instead, he drew a new cigar from his case and proceeded to light it. "As I said," he calmly explained. "Someone needs to act like the chief inspector around here…and if you will not be bothered to hold proper investigations, despite all the evidence," he growled, "then I shall be forced to carry them out myself."

LeDue was furious. "These are police records that you took–"

"TO MAKE YOU SEE REASON!" Raoul roared. He calmly ran a hand through his hair, before leaning forward on the chief inspector's desk, looming over the other man, his green eyes ablaze with vengeance. "The Phantom is real! I've encountered him, Monsieur Daae has encountered him…and now, Christine Daae has too! But last night, she led us to where he lives! And those things," he spat, "are his henchmen! They work for him! They do his bidding! They are his minions! And all of them…including the Phantom himself…MUST BE STOPPED!"

LeDue was trembling. He glanced down at the records he had snatched out of Raoul's hand, and then at the noose that lay upon his desk. Was it possible? Did a masked madman actually live beneath the Paris Opera House?

"You have a duty to protect the people of Paris," Raoul murmured, interrupting the chief inspector's thoughts. "Do not make the same mistake over and over again, assuming that the impossible can not be possible. Do not disregard this until it is too late and those monsters have killed another. We must crush him, completely, before he strikes again."

LeDue sighed and glanced one more time at the noose, then at his officers, before turning his eyes back to the Vicomte's. "Tell me what you need me to do?"

 

* * *

 

"Ah! Mademoiselle Daae! So glad you could grace us with your presence today," Monsieur Gerard grumbled, as Christine hastily joined the rest of the company on stage. She gave the conductor a weak smile, and offered a quick apology that he immediately waved away with his hand. "We have two days before opening night. See that it does not happen again!" Christine nodded her head, and quickly moved back offstage so that Piangi could sing the opening solo to _Don Juan_.

"What happened to you yesterday?" a small girlish voice hissed behind the brunette's back. Christine turned to see Meg Giry standing with several other ballet girls, all of who were looking at her with wide, expectant eyes.

"I received word from a dear friend…they were in trouble and I had to go at once to help them," she explained, hoping that they would be satisfied with her answer and not beg for details.

Some of the girls groaned with disappointment. Christine looked confused, but Meg quickly explained. "I told them that I was wrong about the engagement, that you and the Vicomte de Chagny do not have an attachment, but some of them will not believe me and assumed you were with him," she grumbled, eyeing several of the girls who returned her look of annoyance.

Christine's cheeks turned a bright shade of scarlet as she imagined the horrid gossip that was already being spread in regards to her and Raoul. "How did you know it wasn't true?" She was indeed grateful, but had not had the opportunity to clarify the truth with anyone, other than Madame Giry.

"Mama told me," Meg explained. "She went on to say how it was all a vicious rumor that Carlotta was spreading because she is jealous that you are the star of this production…and also because I think she likes the Vicomte herself."

Christine looked across the stage to see Carlotta standing in the opposite wings, eyeing her with disdain. She returned the same look to the prima donna, wanting to shout that Carlotta was more than welcome to take Raoul for her own.

"If only you hadn't left…"

Christine's attention went immediately back to Meg, and she stared wide-eyed at the pretty dancer. "W-what? What do you mean?"

Meg sighed and looked down at her feet. "The managers were in an absolute panic after your sudden disappearance. Some even began to claim that the Phantom himself took you prisoner!"

Christine bit her lip to hide her smile, but any merry thoughts of her beloved quickly dissolved as she noticed Meg's growing concern. "What happened?"

"Without you here to sing the part," Meg continued, her eyes drifting to the wings on the opposite side of the stage, "the managers thought it best to have an understudy. And…" she looked at Christine before looking once more at the opposite wings. "They cast Carlotta."

Christine felt her face pale at the ballerina's words. "Carlotta?" she practically gasped.

Meg sadly nodded her head. "She has been studying the score and knows all of your songs! Even all of your stage directions!" Meg glanced once more at Carlotta's over-made face, which was holding a wicked grin. It was more than obvious that she knew what the two younger girls were talking about. "Oh Christine, if she has her way, she'll try to steal the part from you!"

Christine shot Carlotta a look that she hoped would chill the diva in her place. "Don't worry; nothing is going to keep me from playing Aminta. Nothing."

 

* * *

 

"A-a-are you sure about this, monsieur?"

Raoul ignored the stuttering officer who sat opposite of him in his carriage. His eyes were fixed on the item he held in his hands.

A glove.

A man's glove.

The glove that Marguerite had brought to him when she came to report on the happenings at his apartment where Christine and her father were staying.

At first, he thought the glove as nothing; some insignificant piece of clothing that obviously belonged to the older man. It was when Marguerite explained to him that she had found the glove in Christine's room, and that it was kept under the girl's pillow…that Raoul began to grow suspisious.

Under normal circumstances, he would simply have wondered why Christine was keeping a single black leather glove under her pillow?

But these were not normal circumstances, not any longer. Christine knew the hunchback creature, she helped him escape back to his secret lair, a lair that lay beneath the Paris Opera House, a lair that was reported to be the mysterious dwelling of the infamous Phantom, a monster who the old man, and who Raoul himself, had come to believe had truly been keeping Christine as his prisoner for months!

Or so he thought.

But after everything he had personally witnessed, and after the reports he had been given by the two officers, and now after Marguerite had brought him this glove…

Raoul found that he was biting his own fist, fighting the urge to vomit and scream.

It was not possible! He refused to believe that Christine…that Christine…

"Monsieur, we seem to be rather far from the city's walls…" the officer opposite of him commented uneasily, gazing out the window of the carriage.

Raoul was actually grateful for the interruption to his thoughts. He did not want to dwell on his worst fears. He looked out the carriage window and noticed that the officer had been right, they were rather far from Paris' boundaries.

He took his walking stick and banged it against the wall where his driver would hear him. "Daniel! If that boy is lying, I want you to throw him off!"

Suddenly, a boy's head, with dark eyes and even darker disheveled hair, appeared before the window of the carriage, having leaned down from the driver's seat. "I ain't lying!" the boy protested angrily. "The carnival is just outside Paris and over this hill!"

"It better be," Raoul growled. He settled back in his seat and continued to gaze out the window, his mind going back to the events that led to his sudden journey to the outskirts of Paris.

After LeDue finally began to see the light of the matter, a loud voice interrupted their conversation, causing LeDue to rise from his desk and go into the lobby of the station, where an officer was wrestling to keep hold of a young gypsy boy, who was struggling against him.

"What's the meaning of this?" LeDue questioned.

"Ouch!" the officer grunted as the boy kicked at his shins. "Little beast! Caught him trying to pick pockets while he was passing out flyers for some carnival," the officer explained, before crying out in pain again as the boy bit down on the man's hand.

Raoul recognized the boy immediately. It was the same boy who had been standing outside the station the day before, passing out flyers about some carnival in Paris that displayed more freaks than one could imagine. At the time, Raoul thought nothing of it, and pushed the boy out of his way. But now…now he saw an opportunity…

"Wait!" he intervened, grabbing the boy by the collar of his shirt and pulling him away from the officer he had been fighting. The boy immediately began to lash out at the Vicomte, but Raoul quickly raised his walking stick in a threatening manner, and the boy immediately stilled. "Good lad," Raoul grumbled. "Now, perhaps you can help me…"

"I ain't helpin' you!" the boy spat.

Raoul smiled at LeDue and the other officers. "We've met before," he explained before turning his attentions back to the boy. "What if I offered you 10 franks…would you help me then?"

The boy's eyes lit up at the mention of money. "Maybe…?"

Raoul could not help but smile. "A wise answer, you've the makings of a true businessman," he grinned. "Now…I remember you telling me yesterday, when I saw you on the street, that this carnival has a vast collection of freaks?"

"Yeah, that's right," the boy said with a hint of pride. "My grandfather runs it, we have more freaks and monsters than you can imagine!"

"Interesting," Raoul murmured. "I would very much like to meet your grandfather, would you take me to him?"

The boy eyed Raoul warily. "What about my money?"

"Here," Raoul handed 5 franks to the boy. "You'll get the rest after you take me to this carnival."

The boy seemed satisfied with this and nodded his head. LeDue stared at Raoul as if he had lost his mind. "Are you mad!" he hissed. "You do realize that this carnival is run by gypsies? Gypsies who would gladly steal your money and leave you for dead!"

Raoul silently nodded his head. "Yes, and that is why I am not going alone." Before anyone could question what he meant exactly, Raoul reached out and grasped the arm of the short, fat officer, who had seen everything the night before.

Despite the officer's protests, Raoul pushed the man inside his carriage, and ordered the boy to sit beside his driver and direct where the carriage should go. They had been traveling for practically an hour, and Raoul was beginning to have serious doubts to this plan he had been concocting.

But suddenly, the hill they had been traveling up, dipped, and the sound of music and laughter could be heard just below. Raoul quickly looked out the window and saw over a dozen wagons, circled together, as well as several tents, pitched nearby.

The carriage came to a stop, and the boy was the first to leap down and open the door. "Where's the rest of my money?" he demanded, holding his dirty hand out in the Vicomte's face.

Raoul pushed the boy aside as he climbed down from the carriage. "All in good time," he promised. "First, take me to your grandfather." The boy groaned his irritation, but nodded his head, leading the way towards the circle of wagons that lay just ahead.

"Monsieur…I'm not sure about this…"

"Get out of there!" Raoul barked at the trembling police officer that still sat in the dark confines of the carriage. "If you don't come with me right now, I'll fetch those gypsies over here to force you out!"

That did it. The officer gave a rather high-pitched squeak, a little too high for a man his size to make, and followed the Vicomte, uneasily, into the gypsy camp.

There were few "customers" viewing the sights of the carnival; some children and a few working class men and women, but no one that the Vicomte would normally associate himself with. The freaks that that they did have were grotesque to be sure; Raoul caught sight of a pair of Siamese twins, as well as a little dwarfish man with flesh so wrinkled it looked as if he wore his skin inside out. Raoul pulled his scented handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose as he passed the various cages; too disgusted to look at the contents behind the iron bars, too nauseous from the smell of blood, vomit, and urine that polluted the air around them.

It was not long before others took notice of the Vicomte's presence; after all, he was clearly the wealthiest man to set foot in the camp. The music, which had been coming from a small band of gypsies, came to a complete stop, and Raoul could feel their eyes boring into him, especially on the sight of his fancy clothes. He barked a command at the officer, who quickly hurried to catch up.

The boy, who ran ahead of them, did not even have to call for his grandfather, for a tall man, with long silver hair and a scruffy silver beard, burst out of a tent in front of them. The man had piercing eyes, eyes that seemed to bore into a person and threaten to burn their very soul out of them. Raoul returned the older man's cold gaze with one of his own, refusing to be intimidated, not when he could feel his reward so close.

"This is my grandfather, the leader of the Ronaldi Carnival. Now give me my money!" the boy demanded.

Raoul snorted at the boy's words, but dropped the remaining coins on the ground for the child to snatch up. He then ran behind the tall graying man, whose gaze never left the Vicomte's. "Monsieur Ronaldi," Raoul greeted with a slight bow of his head. The blubbering sounds of the officer behind him told Raoul that the other gypsies were closing in. "I am the Vicomte de Chagny, and I come with a business proposition," he announced, holding his head high.

No one said anything. And then, a great burst of laughter erupted from the camp; that is, everyone but the man Raoul had been speaking to.

"I don't like police on my property," the older man finally spoke, his voice a deep wheeze.

"My companion is not here to cause you or your family trouble," Raoul quickly reassured. "But he is necessary to describe to you what my business venture is."

"I ain't interested," the man barked, turning on his heel. "Never liked dealing with nobility," he muttered as he dipped his head into his tent.

Raoul could not believe this was happening! "I have some freaks that may be of use to you!"

The man stopped, and slowly turned around. "Freaks?" he held his arms out, indicating the many cages that surrounded them. "Look around you! I have more monsters than any circus! I doubt your freaks can–"

"There are four of them…perhaps more!" he quickly elbowed the officer who was trembling next to him. "Tell him what you saw!" he hissed.

"Oh! W-w-well, I…I s-s-saw a large hunchback…a-a-and there was this d-dwarf woman…a-a-a-and–"

"I have hunchbacks, and dwarves are not the commodities they used to be," the old man grumbled.

"Wait!" the officer pleaded, seeing two burly gypsies with knives come close. "I saw a man covered with tattoos and with a hook for a hand!"

The wicked laughter that had been on everyone's lips suddenly disappeared. And the tall old man froze in place. "What did you say?" he whispered, turning to face the officer head on.

"You heard him," Raoul interjected. "The question is…is he worth something to you?"

The old man eyed Raoul warily. "Where did you see this creature?"

"Underground," Raoul reported, answering for the blubbering officer. "Underground, and beneath the Paris Opera House."

The gypsy glanced at the officer. "Who else did you see?"

"A hunchback, a dwarf woman, the man with the hook…a-a-and something that looked like an ape…he dragged his feet and had large arms–"

"Suzette!" gasped an old woman from the small crowd. "That sounds like Suzette…and the others!"

The older man turned to look at the woman who was his wife, astonishment in his eyes. "That's impossible," he murmured. "She would be dead by now, surely!"

"No, that's her, I'm sure of it! And the descriptions of the others!" the woman reached out and grasped her husband's hand. "Remember how there was that blubbering hunchback she always cooed over? And that is surely our missing 'Ape Man'…and…" she turned to the officer then. "Which hand was the hook on!" she demanded.

The officer jumped at her harsh rasping voice. "T-t-the left, I think."

The woman smiled and turned back to her husband. "Surely you remember Jacque, the first of our collection? It was his left hand that we burnt, his left hand that we replaced with that hook! That has to be him!"

Raoul was finding all this extremely fascinating. He had come to this carnival with hopes that these gypsies would be interested in removing the Phantom's minions, making it easier for him to remove the Phantom…but apparently, it seemed this particular band had a history with the freaks that lived beneath the opera house.

"So," Raoul interrupted. "Are you interested?"

The old man eyed the Vicomte suspiciously. "How did you come upon them?"

"My friend here," he explained, indicating to the officer, "discovered them just last night, after he followed the hunchback all the way back to their lair, which, as I mentioned before, lies beneath the Paris Opera House."

The old man continued to look suspicious. "And…were there any others?"

"N-n-none that was seen," the officer shakily explained.

"But that doesn't mean there couldn't be," Raoul corrected immediately.

The old man scratched his chin, glancing at several of the other gypsies before locking eyes once more with the Vicomte. "I have not been in Paris for nearly twenty years," he softly explained. "The reason being because I lost a good deal of my collection one night, therefore this city holds bad memories for me."

"Touching," Raoul muttered.

The man continued, ignoring the Vicomte's sarcasm. "Those creatures you saw drew much money for me and my family, but none of them could match my most prized possession…The Half Man."

Raoul's ears perked up at this. "The Half Man?"

"Yes," the old woman rasped. "He was a boy then, but despite his youth, he still drew in the crowds. On one side of his face, he looked like anyone else…but the other side…oh on the other side, was the face of a demon!"

Raoul thought surely time had stopped in that moment. He had never seen the infamous Phantom face to face…but the stories he had heard all mentioned something about a horrific face that lay beneath a mask…and on the night he had been attacked by the villain, he remembered how the monster ran away in rage after he had torn the creature's mask away. Was it possible? Did the Phantom actually, at one point, belong to the Ronaldi Carnival?

He could not believe his good fortune at finding this place.

"I have not seen your Half Man," Raoul murmured, "but I can assure you…I know where you can find him."

The gypsies looked at one another with evil grins. It was a good day for them as well! "Name your price!" the old man announced. "After twenty years he will be worth more now than he was as a boy! Name your price and I will pay it gladly!"

Raoul's smile disappeared at once. "Wait…you do not understand," he clarified. "I am not selling these creatures to you…I simply want you to remove them for me."

The smiles the gypsies had been wearing also disappeared. "What?" the old man asked, his piercing eyes boring into the Vicomte's once more.

"I don't care what you do with the creatures," Raoul explained, not liking the way the old man and his family were looking at him. "But I need them removed and the Phantom killed."

"The Phantom?" the old woman asked, looking confused.

"Yes, the Phantom," Raoul groaned. "Your 'Half Man' is now known as the Phantom of the Opera. He lives with those other freaks beneath the Paris Opera House, and he haunts the blasted place! That is what he has been doing for twenty years–and I want him dead!"

"Don't shout at me," the old man warned, and several gypsies unsheathed their knives, their expressions dark and dangerous. "And don't tell me what to do. That monster made me more money than any other freak I've ever owned. The Half Man belongs to me!"

"Monsieur Ronaldi–"

"No deal!" the old man barked, turning on his heel. "I am done speaking with you, monsieur. I suggest you leave before my men force you to…" without another word or glance, he disappeared into the tent he had emerged.

Raoul was furious! He wanted to march into that tent and force the old fool to see reason, but the glint that shimmered off the knives that several gypsies held, forced him to turn and stalk back to his carriage.

The police officer quickly followed, panting to keep up with the Vicomte's long angry strides. "Monsieur!" he gasped. "Monsieur! W-w-we are just going to l-leave like that?"

"Don't say another word to me," Raoul hissed at the stout little man. "And take me to the opera house at once Daniel!" he barked to his driver, before climbing inside his carriage. He was not going to let this sad turn of events ruin his day or his plans!

 

* * *

 

Christine was grateful for the break in rehearsal when it was finally announced. This had perhaps been one of her hardest rehearsals, and she knew that the reason was because in two days time, _Don Juan Triumphant_ would be premiering for the entire world to see.

Two days. She shuttered at the thought. In two days she would be singing before an audience, as the star in Erik's opera.

It was a shame that the opera would be performed with the original ending that Erik had written, with Don Juan murdering Aminta and her handsome young lover. She remembered how a few nights ago she had defended the opera before the Vicomte, telling him her version of the story, the version she had helped compose with Erik. She knew that it was impossible now…but perhaps, if Don Juan became a success, if other opera houses began to demand it…perhaps it could be changed once more? After all, things were finally better between herself and her Phantom lover; surely Erik would not mind.

A smile spread across her face as she thought of her beloved. Where he was, she did not know, but she knew he had been watching her rehearse, and she only prayed that she had made him proud. She owed so much to him when it came to her singing abilities. She may have always had a sweet voice, but Erik had helped her mold it, tone it, and turn it into a voice that could sing to great depths. She smiled even more as her fingers went to play with the chain that hung around her neck; the chain belonged to the locket that held her mother's picture, but around the chain hung another treasure, a secret treasure for the time being.

She let out a happy content sigh as her fingers brushed the diamond ring that hung next to her locket. She was engaged to the man of her dreams…and soon, she prayed, they would be married.

With another happy sigh, Christine practically skipped to her dressing room, knowing that the managers wanted the cast to wear costumes for the rest of rehearsals. She was eager to try on Aminta's costumes, the costumes that Erik himself had designed. She found herself wondering whether he had designed the costumes before they had met, or if perhaps after? Had he thought of her while designing such gowns? She couldn't wait to see! She burst into her dressing room, checked around quickly to see if Carlotta or anyone else was hiding, and satisfied that she was alone, locked the door.

"You are a goddess…"

Christine gasped as she heard his silky voice just behind her ear. She couldn't turn around, for she felt his large, warm hands, wrap around her waist, pulling her against his solid frame. She purred as she felt his hot breath on her neck, and couldn't help but moan as she felt his lips leave the softest of kisses on her skin.

"For you, my angel," he whispered, producing a single red rose, with an elegant black ribbon, tied around the stem.

Christine smiled at the gift, and reached out to take it, but Erik moved the flower away before she could wrap her small fingers around the stem. "Erik," she giggled, turning in his arms to smile up at him. "Are you playing games with me?"

Erik pretended to look hurt. "I would never dream of such a thing, mademoiselle."

"Good," she teased, attempting to take her flower again, but once more, he was too quick for her, and lifted it away. Christine attempted to pout, but found the task too hard, as she couldn't stop smiling. "Fine, be dark and mysterious," she sighed, turning away from him to fetch her costume.

But Erik's gloved fingers wrapped grasped her wrist, and pulled her back into his embrace. "Erik," she blushed, trying to keep her voice low. "I need to change into my costume."

"And you will," he promised, taking the rose and slowly running the soft petals along her cheek. "But that also means that you need help out of your dress…a task that I am only too happy to help you with…" he growled seductively, his talented fingers already undoing the buttons along her back.

"Erik…" she moaned, feeling the heat rise between her legs. "They will be expecting me soon…"

"They can wait," he murmured, undoing the last of her buttons and slowly pulling the dress off her shoulders. "I am the one who makes the rules around here, not them…and I demand that my star receives only the best treatment when she is not rehearsing…"

Christine could not argue with him, she didn't want to. She was too wrapped up in her lover's seductive spell. With hazy eyes, the color of a storm-filled sea, she stepped out of her dress, and moaned with pleasure as Erik continued to undress her, removing her corset, pantalets, chemise, and stockings, before finally leading her over to the chaise lounge, with only a blush to cover her body.

"Close your eyes," he softly commanded, and Christine immediately obeyed. With tender care, he ran the rose over her skin, delighting in every purr and whimper that Christine produced. The petals were so soft, reminding her of the silken sheets that covered the bed she and Erik had shared the night before. She gasped and trembled with need as she felt Erik run the petals across her breasts, taking extra care to roll over her budding nipples. "My beauty…" he growled. "My intoxicating bride…"

"Erik…" she whimpered, her breathing coming in short gasps as she felt the flower descend her body, running down her stomach, across her thighs, teasing her…before moving over the moist curls that crowned her womanhood. "Erik!"

"Yes my angel?" His voice was dark and sensual, filled with the same passionate longing that her voice was filled with. "Tell me what you want…" he growled, brushing the rose over the swollen lips of her mound. "Tell me what you desire." He flicked the rose across her clitoris and Christine thought she would faint with longing.

"Please! You…I need you, I want you, please...please–"

Any further words were lost, as Erik's mouth came crashing over hers, and Christine immediately began clawing at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers once more. But her need was so great, as was his from what she could feel against her thigh, that her hands swiftly moved to join his, which were attempting to undo his belt and lower his trousers. In a matter of seconds, his cock was free, and Erik groaned as he felt his beloved's soft small fingers guide his throbbing member into her sweet dewy heat. Christine moaned Erik's name, her legs quickly rising up to wrap around his body, and Erik's hands moving down to cup her luscious bottom, to lift her to his demanding thrusts. Ever since the night before, Erik could not stop thinking about Christine, he could not stop remembering how good it felt to make love to her, to hold her in his arms, to feel her sweet mouth against his own. He had been fantasizing about her all day, and eagerly awaiting the moment when he could "surprise" her in her dressing room.

"Erik! ERIK!" she panted with each thrust his body drove into her. She gratefully accepted his mouth when it was upon hers again; kissing him was the only way to keep her from screaming her pleasure for all the opera house to hear. Christine could feel her climax soaring, she was growing closer and closer to the brink of pleasure, but she wanted to feel it with Erik, to feel his body trembling inside hers before pleasure's ecstasy took her beyond the point of no return.

Outside the dressing room, in the auditorium, Raoul burst through the doors, his eyes lit with rage from the earlier business with the gypsies. The only thing that could calm him was seeing Christine…but even that did not prove to be a calming thought.

He demanded answers! Who was that creature that she burst into the police station to rescue? How did she know the monster? Why had she come with that thing to the opera house? Where had she gone after bringing the beast back? And most importantly…whose glove was she keeping under her pillow!

Raoul was furious, and if anyone got in his way, so help him–

"Ah! There you are!"

Raoul groaned with annoyance at the sight of Carlotta, who blocked his way from advancing upon the stage. "Not now, Carlotta," he growled with warning.

The blonde soprano would not be ordered away easily. "I can not believe it," she hissed with disgust. "After everything we have shared…I can not believe that you're actually…you're actually…" she struggled with finishing the words, she was just so angry at the thought of him marrying that stupid girl!

"My dear," Raoul growled with exasperation. "You were a good fuck that served its purposes…nothing more. I owe you nothing. Now get out of my way!"

Carlotta's rage was so great that she shoved him with all the might she could muster. "You bastard!" she hissed. "Despite your reputation for bedding every ballerina in this place, I never thought that you would go so far as to…as to propose marriage to some chorus wench!"

Raoul, who was ready to shove the prima donna to one side, froze at the woman's words. "W-w-w-what?"

Carlotta grinned evilly and lifted her head high. "Yes, I know all about it. I saw the ring she was wearing, and I must say…for a man like yourself, your gambling debts must be seriously high, if you think a little bauble like that would classify as a wedding ring!"

Raoul stared at the woman, feeling the color drain from his face. What on earth was Carlotta talking about! What ring had she seen Christine wearing! So many thoughts were flying about in his head that he barely heard Carlotta's next words.

"I hate myself for letting you use me like some cheap whore," she spat, "but I get pleasure out of knowing that it is you, who is now being played the fool!"

Raoul looked at the woman, wanting nothing more than to backhand the smirk that played across her over-made lips. "Fool!" he nearly roared. No one ever made a fool out of him!

"Yes," Carlotta continued, not backing down despite the rage she could see in his eyes. "You enter this place as if you own it, snapping your fingers at any woman who pleases your eye, thinking yourself a god in the bedroom…but the one girl you want more than any other, the one girl you've spent more time pursuing than any other…the one you have actually gone so far as to propose marriage, is the one who is playing you for a fool…and giving her body over to another!"

Carlotta's grin quickly melted away when Raoul grasped her by the shoulders and slammed her against the nearest wall. "WHAT?" he hissed. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

"ERIK!" the diva practically shrieked. "I heard her say his name a few days ago!" she wailed, pushing at Raoul's chest to release her. She gasped when he finally did, her shoulders aching with pain from where he had held her.

"Erik…" Raoul repeated. A cold feeling was rising within his stomach.

Without another word or glance, Raoul raced to Christine's dressing room, not caring if he trespassed on her privacy, he was determined to get to the bottom of all this, determined to discover what Carlotta meant by believing the two of them to be engaged, what this talk was about some kind of ring, and most importantly…who this "Erik" was.

Raoul reached the dressing room, prepared to break the door down if necessary, and found…

…it was open?

"Christine?"

Nothing. She wasn't there. She had already left.

But his nostrils caught a familiar scent in the air, one that made his stomach turn with horror. And on the dressing table, lay a single red rose, with a black ribbon tied around its stem.

 


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul confronts Christine with his jealous suspicions...

_**Jealousy** _

He sat in his darkened library; his fingers laced together, his chin resting against them, and his eyes staring off into the dark shadows across the room.

Outside, a storm was raging. The sound of thunder erupted the air, as if the earth itself were growling with fury. Now and then lightening would illuminate the darkened library, casting eerie shadows over his face.

He had left the opera house not long after he had arrived. One glance at Christine's dressing room had been enough for him, and the rage had been building since…

Her clothes lay in a heap on the floor.

There was an imprint of two bodies on the chaise lounge.

The scent of lovemaking was in the air.

And the single red rose…

Raoul could not help himself; he grasped the rose and took it with him, wanting to smash its delicate petals on the ground beneath his foot.

But he didn't…at least, not yet.

It was all becoming too clear. The glove Marguerite had brought him, the rumor of Christine's engagement ring, the rose, the obvious signs that Christine had not been alone in her dressing room…and the name that Carlotta had heard the young woman say: Erik.

These little pieces of evidence, combined with Christine's mysterious return after months of disappearing, the 300 franks in gold she had mysteriously acquired, her knowledge of the creature from the prison, and even the mask worn by his attacker after leaving Christine that one evening, created a picture that caused bile to rise in his throat.

It could _not_ be possible! But the evidence was not lying…

He closed his eyes as he remembered the way she easily went into the arms of Red Death at the masquerade ball. He bit the inside of his cheek as he recalled the way she passionately defended the Phantom's opera, and he tasted blood as he recalled how she refused to allow him to kiss her, to touch her, to even accept his offer of help when she freed the monster.

He tried to create reasons, excuses really, to the way she had been behaving. After all, she had willingly danced in his arms at the masquerade, had she not? He was sure she had! And she graciously accepted his offers to help her, thanking him for all that he had done to free her father, to find them a place to stay…

…and she had also told him just the other day that she would not be needing his charity any longer.

Raoul's fingers clenched into a fist as he remembered the cold bitterness in her tone.

_Charity._

He hated that word, but he hated it with newfound passion ever since Christine had said it to him. His actions had not been charitable! How dare she take them that way! And how dare she, a little nobody, refuse him and his kind actions!

He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair as the lightning illuminated the library once more. Damn her! Damn her beautiful eyes, her pretty face, her silken hair, and her sweet body! Damn her for having this hold on him!

She was a woman! And women were meant to satisfy his cravings, nothing more! Why was it that she had been so difficult? No other woman had ever been this much of a headache for him, not even Carlotta! He had done everything to win her over; he wooed her, he showered gifts upon her, he took her to the most fashionable places in Paris! He was willing to commit matrimony for her!

And yet she still refused him. HIM! He was handsome, wealthy, had high social connections, a great estate in the country, a fashionable town house in Paris! He had traveled across Europe, he could take her anywhere she longed to go, buy her whatever it was that she wanted! WHAT DID HE HAVE TO DO TO WIN HER OVER?

Raoul was shaking with rage. _No…it was not possible…_

He closed his eyes and images of her with the Phantom invaded his mind. Her head thrown back, her hair falling down her shoulders, as the Phantom ran his disgusting lips across her creamy skin. Raoul growled as he thought about Christine spreading her legs willingly for that madman, rutting with the monster, allowing him to defile her flesh!

_NO!_

"Monsieur?"

Raoul snarled at the butler who had dared to open the door to the library. "I told you," he hissed in a dangerous voice. "I don't want any interruptions."

The butler swallowed the nervous lump in his throat. "I beg your pardon monsieur…but I thought it best that you should see this…" the man carefully approached the Vicomte and handed him a note. "Marguerite sent it here this morning…"

The name of the redheaded maid caused the Vicomte's head to spring upward, and he snatched the note out of the butler's hands. Without another glance or word, he tore the paper open, and quickly read the letter's contents.

The butler recalled the look of fury buried in the green depths of his master's eyes, and did not think it possible for that fury to blaze even brighter.

He was wrong.

"Get my carriage," Raoul ordered, his voice dark, cold, and menacing. The butler simply nodded his head, and quickly walked out of the library to fetch Daniel, the Vicomte's coachman.

Raoul slowly rose to his feet, his jaw cracking from the way he clenched his teeth. The news that Marguerite had sent him had been too much. It was time he confronted Mademoiselle Daae once and for all. He lifted his eyes to glance at the rose he had taken from her dressing room; it had been lying on the mantle above the empty fireplace.

Like a rose, his Christine was beautiful and soft…but she was also very prickly, with sharp, deadly thorns, thorns that had scratched at him for too long. Without another thought, he grasped the rose by its petals, and crushed them with his fist. So would he also crush his beautiful brunette flower, should she attempt to prick him once more.

 

* * *

 

"I have informed my housekeeper that you and your father will be my guests once more," Madame Giry explained to Christine as rehearsals were finally coming to a close for the evening. Christine put on a weak smile, remembering how "well" she and Madame Giry's housekeeper got on the last time she had been there. But she reminded herself that this was only temporary and extremely necessary–she and her father couldn't stay in that fashionable apartment one more night.

"I thank you for doing all this," Christine murmured, still feeling guilty for intruding on Madame Giry's hospitality once more.

"Nonsense," the ballet mistress smiled. "It is a pleasure to help you...and the sooner you are away from the Vicomte, the better," she muttered.

Christine couldn't help but agree. "Papa left almost an hour ago to fetch our things, but I should check to see if he needs any help, as well as make sure Marguerite didn't forget anything."

Madame Giry nodded her head with understanding. "Come, Meg and I will be glad to take you to the apartment in our carriage."

Christine smiled at the woman who was known to have an icy persona, but who truly had a heart of gold. "Thank you, but first..." she blushed as she revealed two envelopes to the ballet mistress. "I need to leave these in Box 5."

One of the letters Christine held had been written by her father. She had been glowing with happiness as her father wrote his blessing to Erik. The second letter was a brief note that Christine had scribbled earlier that morning to inform Erik that she and her father would be staying with Madame Giry for the night. The last thing she wanted was for him to risk his life venturing out in the night to see her as he had done on other occasions.

"I understand," Madame Giry smiled tenderly. "Hurry and deliver your notes and we shall be on our way."

Christine grinned and quickly took the stairs that would lead her to the Vicomte's box. Today had perhaps been one of the happiest days Christine could remember. She felt such relief, knowing that things were right between herself and Erik, knowing that her father had given his approval, and knowing especially that she would not have to deal with Raoul any more. However, she could not help but feel a little surprised for not seeing him since the other day. She knew she had startled him with her behavior, with her concern towards Rudolph, and he made it abundantly clear that he thought her mad for taking the poor hunchback in. And while she had not told him outright that she wished to no longer see him again, she had made it rather clear that was her intention.

It puzzled her; Raoul seemed to be the sort of man that did not take "no" very well, if at all. Yet he had not graced the opera house with his appearance; Christine was grateful for this, but she could not suppress a feeling of apprehension.

She shook her head, not wanting worries that involved the Vicomte to spoil her good mood. Instead, she focused on her afternoon with Erik, which immediately caused a dark blush to color her cheeks.

Erik certainly had surprised her; she was hoping he would appear to her before the day was finished, but she had not expected him to seduce her in her own dressing room! She blushed even further as her mind began to imagine what "surprises" the intermission on opening night would hold for her. A smile spread across her lips as she remembered the wonderful feel of his arms holding her close, his lips tenderly kissing her glowing face after they both gave themselves up to one another's passion, and even the loving way he helped her with her costume, lacing her corset, pinning roses in her hair; with a tender kiss to her forehead, he disappeared once more through the mirror, while she quickly hurried back on stage–she would not allow Carlotta another opportunity to play Aminta.

Christine kissed both letters before laying them on the chair in Box 5. She clutched the ring that hung from her neck and smiled even further as she imagined marrying her Phantom. _Soon_ , she prayed.

Without another look, she quickly descended the stairs and ran to her dressing room to gather her things. She frowned as she could not find the beautiful rose that Erik had given her earlier that day; she swore she had left it on the dressing table. She did not like the idea of leaving without it, but she could not wait another minute, she knew she was keeping both Madame Giry and Meg. Determined to search for it anew tomorrow, Christine quickly hurried outside to where a small black carriage waited. Meg was smiling and had the door opened for Christine. "I'm so glad that you'll be staying with us again!" she said cheerfully. Christine smiled back at the pretty dancer, knowing that she had not revealed many of her secrets to the ballet mistress' daughter, including her reasons for needing to stay with them. However, ever since Christine had returned to the opera house, Meg had been one of the few people who had treated her with any kindness. She wanted desperately to confide in the young woman, to reveal everything that had happened, to explain why she was not engaged to Raoul, and who truly had given her that ring. _But not yet_ , she thought sadly. While Meg was very kind and thoughtful, Christine was not sure how the pretty dancer would take to the news of her being engaged to the infamous Opera Ghost.

Within a few short minutes, Madame Giry's carriage stopped just outside the apartment both Christine and her father had been occupying. "I shall be quick!" Christine promised, climbing out of the carriage and dashing into the building.

"Papa! I'm here! Madame Giry and Meg are waiting in their carriage outside," she called out, entering the flat. "Do you have all our things? Did you check both bedrooms–"

"He's not here, Christine."

Christine froze at the sound of Raoul's voice. She slowly turned from the door she had been shutting to face the tall, handsome, blonde nobleman who stood in the dark hallway that led to the bedchambers. An uneasy feeling began to rise in the pit of her stomach.

"Raoul…" Christine murmured. "W-what are you doing here?"

The Vicomte took a calm step towards her, and Christine felt herself instinctively move back. The first time she had seen him, his handsome face, his charming smile, and his elegant manners had overwhelmed Christine. She could easily understand why many of the girls in the ballet found him dashing and irresistible–but tonight, she wondered if any of those same girls would think those things about him now, as a sinister cloud passed over his eyes, causing his handsome features to look twisted and grotesque. Funny, she thought; Erik could frighten anyone if he so willed it…except for her. When he stalked her, she felt excitement, not fear. When the Vicomte stalked her, she felt like a doe, about to be torn apart by a ravenous wolf.

"Do not worry about your father," Raoul reassured, his voice calm and even, but with an icy edge to the tone. "I saw him leave just moments ago. He was carrying several large bags…"

Christine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and lifted her chin. She refused to allow him to believe he intimidated her.

Raoul paused and glanced at several ornaments that decorated a shelf. "Had I been closer, I would have inquired where he was going, even offer my services to help him with those bags," he sighed, before lifting his eyes to hers once more. "I can't help but wonder where he was going…and with so many bags…"

Christine's lips were a thin tight line, a result from having clenched her teeth. She was tired of Raoul's "cat and mouse" games, tired of him believing he could bully anyone he wanted into doing whatever he wished. _No more_ , she thought to herself. _No more lies, no more games._ "We are leaving," she simply said.

It took every ounce of will power that Raoul possessed to not reach out and throttle the pretty brunette before him. He had been practicing this will power the second she had entered the apartment and called out for her absent father. He forced himself to be calm, to keep his emotions in check, to even sound light-hearted…

But he had not been expecting her blunt answer. Any amusement that he had in his eyes or in his voice disappeared.

"You're leaving?" he calmly asked, although anyone could tell that the calmness was strained.

"Yes," Christine simply answered, and without another word, pushed past him to check the bedrooms to make sure her father had gathered all their supplies.

Raoul stared at the woman's back, stunned by her bluntness and coldness. Despite all the puzzle pieces he had been putting together, despite the letter and evidence that Marguerite had given him…he still had difficulty believing that this girl…was blatantly refusing him!

"WHY?" he demanded, his voice a loud bark.

Christine ignored his question, and the dangerous tone it held, and continued checking the rooms. She owed him nothing, not even an explanation. Yet she also knew that by attempting to answer his questions, she would be forced to stay in his presence longer…and the sooner she got of there, the better.

"Damn it, Christine," Raoul growled, slamming his fist against one of the walls. "You will answer me!"

Christine remained silent, searching her bedchamber thoroughly while the Vicomte fumed. Raoul watched with cold rage as she checked under her pillow, the muscles at the side of his neck throbbing and twitching.

The glove. She was searching for that blasted glove that Marguerite had brought to him.

Christine was troubled that she could not find the glove that had belonged to Erik. Strange, both his glove and his rose were missing. If she were alone, she would take extra time to search for it, but she knew deep in her heart that she needed to get out of there immediately. She could only pray that her father had somehow retrieved it.

"Missing something?" Raoul asked through clenched teeth.

Christine lifted her chin, refusing to give him any sort of satisfaction, even an answer to his questions. She began to walk by, but he stood in front of her, blocking the hall from the bedroom. "Let me pass," she calmly ordered.

"No, I think not," Raoul snarled. "Not until I have some questions answered. You owe me that much, I think."

Christine's eyes locked with his, hatred seething from their blue depths. "I owe you nothing!" she spat.

"Oh really?" Raoul retorted. "How foolish of me to misunderstand! After all, I only paid the fine to release your father, I only gave the two of you a place to stay, I only helped both you, and he, find work at the Paris Opera House, and I only convinced the managers to make you the star of this bloody opera, while keeping Carlotta at bay!"

"You had nothing to do with me getting that part!" Christine shouted. "That part was mine even before you went to the managers!"

Raoul cocked a golden brow at her words. "Oh how silly of me to forget; that's right, you are the Phantom's favored singer…"

Christine glared at him, despising the words he used. She didn't care if he slandered her name and hated her till the day he died; but she would not stand by while he insulted Erik. "You know what continues to amuse me? The fact that you continue to believe that you run that opera house."

"I DO RUN THAT OPERA HOUSE!" Raoul roared in her face, causing her hair to blow backward.

"NO YOU DON'T!" Christine shouted back, not backing down for one second. "You think you do, you think you run everything! You think that with a wave of your hand, a handsome smile, and the promise of money, you can have anything you want. But you can't Raoul, and you never will!"

Raoul's eyes seemed to be glowing with rage. "Never?" he questioned, his voice a dangerous tone that Christine had never heard before, a tone that caused a horrible tingle to rush down her spine. She held fast to her courage.

"The day you helped me release my father, I offered to pay you back–but you refused. You said I owed you nothing, and I foolishly believed you. But you don't mean that, do you?" she asked, squaring her shoulders despite the treacherous way he was looking at her. "Your promises are empty, and your charity is costly. You said I owed you nothing, but what you really meant was that you didn't want my money, or even my gratitude! Paying for my father's release, offering us this elegant place to stay, even your invitation to dinner! It was all a ruse, an elaborate scheme to make both myself and my father feel that we had to repay you somehow…but the payment you seek is something you will NEVER have!"

Christine could not conceal the gasp that escaped her throat when Raoul took a sudden thunderous step towards her. "Never?" he growled again, a shadow darkening his face and making him look even more sinister. He opened his mouth to speak further, but something caught his eye…something sparkling in her cleavage. Without another word, he reached out and grasped the ring, tugging it from her neck before she could react, let alone protest.

Christine stared in horror, as Raoul not only took the ring Erik had given her, but also her mother's locket. She clawed at his hand to give them back to her, but without even looking at her, he shoved her away, causing Christine to fall backwards onto the bed. She quickly sat up, prepared to launch herself at the Vicomte to reclaim what was rightfully hers, but the cold anger in Raoul's eyes froze her in place.

"So it's true…" he whispered, his eyes flying back and forth between her face and the ring. "It's all true," he whispered again, although this time more to himself than her. The glove, the rose, the ring, everything…

She was the Phantom's whore!

Christine let out a scream as Raoul suddenly seized her by the shoulders, forcing her off the bed, and shoving her, hard, against a nearby wall. Her head hurt from banging the wall's hard surface, and she whimpered with pain as his fingers dug into her flesh, practically lifting her off the floor so that she dangled helplessly. "YOU LITTLE BITCH!" he shouted, slamming her again against the wall. "YOU RUTTED WITH THAT MONSTER, DIDN'T YOU?" Christine blinked back her frightened tears as Raoul shoved her again against the wall. She turned her head away, wanting to retch as she felt his body pressing against hers.

"ADMIT IT CHRISTINE!" he shouted, shaking her like a rag doll. "YOU GAVE YOURSELF TO HIM! YOU BECAME HIS WHORE! HIS SLUT! HIS–"

"YES!" she screamed in his face, anger now replacing fear. "And I loved it!"

Raoul's face paled, and for a brief moment, he was stunned speechless. But that moment quickly ended, and without blinking, he backhanded her, hard, across the face, causing her to crumple to the ground, blood seeping from her nose and lip.

Christine coughed and tasted blood in her mouth. She knew she had only kindled his anger with her words, but she would never take them back, it had been worth it.

A howl of pain escaped Christine's throat as she felt Raoul grab her by the hair and hoist her up to her feet. "You filthy, disgusting, bitch," he snarled, slamming her once more against the wall. Christine groaned in pain, her head throbbing from the abuse. She turned her face away as she suddenly felt his lips smother her neck with wet, slimy kisses, his teeth biting the flesh harshly, while his hands were busy pushing up her skirt. "You're mine," Raoul growled possessively. "MINE!"

Despite the light-headedness Christine was feeling, despite the pain and shock from everything that had transpired, her strength and courage rose up once more, and in one great moment of vengeful anger, her knee shot out and made contact with his groin. Raoul gasped in pain and fell to his knees, and without hesitating further, Christine's knee slammed into the Vicomte's handsome face, praying that she broke his so-called perfect nose, and causing him to topple over onto the ground. While he lay on the ground, cursing her name and groaning in pain, she took her booted foot and kicked him hard in the stomach, before stomping on his groin once more.

Raoul howled with pain from Christine's actions. Satisfied that he was in too much agony to do anything other than whimper and groan, she reached down and reclaimed the ring and locket he had taken from her, before quickly hurrying out of the apartment.

Madame Giry was pacing on the street below, looking anxious and worried. She let out a sigh of relief when Christine emerged, but her relief quickly disappeared when she saw Christine's cut lip and bloody nose. "What happened?" the ballet mistress practically screeched in horror.

"I'm fine," Christine reassured. "Please, I'll explain everything later, but we must go, now."

Madame Giry glanced up to the windows of the apartment and felt cold rage fill her veins. "The Vicomte?" she icily asked.

"Please…" Christine pleaded. "I just want to leave this place."

Madame Giry knew that the girl was right. Staying here would only worsen things, and right now Christine needed to be somewhere safe. She quickly helped the young woman into the carriage, and ordered the driver to be off. Meg gasped at the sight of Christine, but one look from her mother told her to hold her tongue. Answers would be given later, but right now, all that mattered was getting home.

Raoul stumbled out of the building the second the carriage disappeared around a corner. He snarled as he held his handkerchief to his bleeding nose, pain still radiating between his legs. "So be it," he growled to the night air. "Let this be war upon the both of you!"

"Monsieur?" Raoul turned and saw Daniel, his coachman, hurrying towards him. "Are you alright?"

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M ALRIGHT?"

Daniel jumped at his master's tone. His eyes flew to the place where Madame Giry's carriage had been. "Do you wish to follow them?" he asked, hoping to get back on the Vicomte's good graces.

Raoul looked up once more in the direction that the carriage had gone. "No," he whispered. "But there is someone else I wish to see…"

Nearly an hour later, Raoul emerged from his carriage, not even waiting for Daniel to climb down and open the door. He threw his bloody handkerchief down on the ground, and stalked towards his destination.

Music was playing, several people were dancing, and wine flowed from nearly a dozen pitchers. The gypsies laughed and sang to the music, dancing and shouting their revelry around a glowing bonfire, while behind them, their "collections" sat huddled in their cages, yearning for kindness and freedom.

They were so preoccupied with their revel making that they did not notice they had a visitor, until a child cried out, "look! It's that fancy man from this morning!"

The music stopped and silence fell over the camp as the gypsies gazed at Raoul with suspicion, several going for the daggers that they kept at their boots. "I wish to speak with Monsieur Ronaldi," Raoul said calmly, but with cold determination.

The tall old man emerged from the cluster of people and approached the Vicomte, eyeing the nobleman suspiciously. "Good evening, monsieur," he greeted. "I did not realize that we would be honored by your presence once more."

"I want to make a deal with you."

A murmur went up around the camp, but Ronaldi lifted his hand to silence them. "A deal?" he inquired. "I do hope it's a different proposition than the one you presented earlier today…"

"Indeed," Raoul reassured. "Name your price, and I will pay it."

Ronaldi cocked a silver brow at the Vicomte's words. "My price?"

"Yes," Raoul growled. "I want him dead."

"The Half Man?"

"The Half Man, the Phantom, whatever his name is, yes," he snarled. "I want him dead…and I will pay you and your men whatever amount you wish to see that it's done."

Ronaldi stood for a long moment, eyeing the Vicomte carefully, while the rest of his clan stood in silent anticipation awaiting the response from their leader.

"Deal."

 


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storms are raging; storms of jealousy and revenge, all leading up to someone's destruction...

_**Tempest** _

Raoul sighed as he exhaled a long cloud of gray smoke. For the first time in months, he truly felt relaxed.

He sat in one of the gypsy's wagons, on a rather rickety old chair, but it made no difference, he could be sitting in a puddle of muddy water; what mattered was that Ronaldi had agreed to take care of his "phantom" problem.

Ronaldi sat across from Raoul, at a small green desk. He too was smoking one of Raoul's fine cigars, as well as drinking a glass of Merlot. "So the entrance to this place is in the sewer tunnels?"

Raoul nodded his head. "I'm sure there are several entrances to where he lives, but this is the only one that I know of that isn't booby trapped."

Ronaldi let out a soft chuckle. "Erik was always resourceful."

Raoul's head shot up at the mention of the Phantom's name. "Erik?"

Ronaldi smiled and sipped his wine. "All our creatures have names, monsieur…we're not so inhumane," he chuckled.

Raoul despised the Phantom more than anyone else on earth, but he found himself slightly curious at how the old gypsy came to know the masked devil. "When and where did you…acquire him?"

Ronaldi sighed, a cloud of smoke leaving his nostrils. "It was so long ago…seems like ages," he murmured. "We used to travel everywhere, and one day when we were near Constantinople, we encountered a Persian caravan."

"Persian?" Raoul asked, his attention set on Ronaldi's story.

The old gypsy nodded his head. "He was already a boy...12, perhaps even 13...I can not recall. They had purchased him when he was a baby; there was this Muslim girl, young…a child really. When she gave birth, the child was deformed. Her husband wanted nothing to do with the boy–said Allah had marked him as a sign for disobedience and sin. I never questioned what this 'disobedience' was, but I got the impression that the husband wasn't the most faithful of men," Ronaldi winked. "Apparently the girl screamed, wanting to keep her baby," he chuckled softly. "Funny…it was one of the ugliest children I had ever seen, and yet I could from the way these travelers told me the tale, that this girl truly thought him beautiful," he shrugged his shoulders. "The husband more or less thrusted the babe with the caravan, wanting to be rid of it more than anything. Apparently the boy did slave labor for them, but as he grew with age, he became too cocky, began to talk back, and eventually fight back. They would beat him into obedience...and the day before we came upon them, they had beaten him so badly, that they told me he had lost his memory."

Raoul's brows arched at this. "You mean the Phantom has no memory of his life before being in your carnival?"

Ronaldi shrugged his shoulders. "I never truly cared enough to ask. I just knew that he would be a star attraction, and they were quite eager to sell him," he sighed, somewhat wistfully. "Now he didn't come cheap; I paid a handsome price to have him in my collection, but it was worth it; he made us more money than we had ever dreamed of making! We gave him the title of the 'Half Man', and he became our star attraction," he sighed and shook his head. "But one night, he escaped; our watchman said he had gone in to Erik's cage to beat him, but Erik…ever resourceful Erik, knew exactly what he was doing. He kicked the man in the groin–"

Raoul winced and carefully folded his legs; his own manhood still throbbed with pain.

"And took the watchman's keys, making his escape. He released the others too, but we were able to capture all of them again, except for the four that your police friend saw," he concluded, finishing his glass of wine. "But thanks to you, they will be ours once more."

"Just remember to kill the Phantom," Raoul growled as he flicked the ashes from his cigar.

Ronaldi nodded his head, although he eyed his business partner with scrutiny. "A deal is a deal, monsieur…but tell me, why is it that you hate him so?"

Raoul grunted at the old man's question. "Let's just say…he and I have a history."

Ronaldi couldn't help but chuckle at the Vicomte's answer. "As do both he and myself, but that tells me nothing! Come…" he rose from his desk to pour the Vicomte a glass of Merlot. "I wish to know why I am being asked to kill my most prized attraction."

Raoul nearly gulped down the whole glass of Merlot once the old man stopped pouring. "He's been a thorn in my side for too long," he hissed. "I am a patron of the Paris Opera House–what I say, goes! But he…he believes he runs the blasted place. And he makes demands all the time, ordering the management to follow his instructions to the line. And when we refuse, he causes some sort of scandal that takes weeks to clear up."

Ronaldi cocked a silver brow at Raoul's revelation. "Sounds like a nuisance, indeed, but not a good enough reason for me and my men to kill him."

Raoul's fingers squeezed the wine glass he held, and it instantly began to crack. "He's taken something from me," he growled, deep, low, and dangerous. "Something very valuable."

Ronaldi eyed the nobleman, and glanced at the cracked wine glass which he held. Without saying anything, he reached over and took the glass. Nothing further needed to be said; only a woman could have that sort of effect on a man.

"We should discuss the subject of payment," the old gypsy murmured, walking back to his desk.

"Money is no object," Raoul stated once more.

"Good," Ronaldi smiled, sitting back down and propping his feet up on the desk. "I want 5,000 franks."

Raoul began choking on the smoke from his cigar. "5,000 FRANKS?" he coughed, his face paling at the old man's words. "You can't be serious–"

"10,000!" Ronaldi barked, his dark eyes unwavering and daring the Vicomte to challenge him further.

Raoul groaned and knew it was worthless to argue. "Fine. 10,000 franks."

The old gypsy smiled and eased himself even further back into his chair. "Good. You can pay me the first 5,000 now, and the rest after we've done the deed."

"You're too generous," Raoul muttered with irritation. This was going to set him back quite a bit. What he wouldn't give to have the money that the dying Marquis Clamont had! Oh Christine–the stupid girl had no idea that her grandfather was going to be leaving her his entire fortune.

"It would be best for my men and I to see this sewer entrance tonight, while under the cover of darkness. Tomorrow, we shall strike," Ronaldi explained.

"And how will you strike?" Raoul asked curiously. "More importantly, how will you go about killing the Phantom?"

Ronaldi grinned. "Let me reassure you that my clan has a long history of getting out of tough situations, and disappearing without a shred of evidence," he reached out and patted a covered item with his hand.

Raoul rose from where he sat and walked over to the thing that Ronaldi had been patting. It was round, that much he could tell…and it was covered with a dirty sheet. A nod from the old man's head told Raoul he was welcome to lift the sheet and see what exactly the Ronaldi clan was hiding.

Gunpowder.

Barrels upon barrels of gunpowder.

"It's a shame you won't be able to join us, monsieur," Ronaldi sighed, covering the barrels once more. "It should be quite the display."

 

* * *

 

Christine winced as the housekeeper rubbed a little alcohol across her lip. "Hold still," the woman muttered. "I know it stings, but it's for your own good."

Sitting across from her was her father, who looked more distressed than ever before. It had been less than twenty minutes since she had entered Madame Giry's home. Christine was so grateful to see that her father had indeed made it there, safely. He smiled as she entered, but in one second, his smile disappeared. From that moment on, he had been in hysterics. "I'll kill him!" he angrily vowed, throwing on his coat and preparing to leave to challenge the Vicomte de Chagny to a duel right then and there.

"You will do no such thing, Papa!" Christine argued, grabbing her father's shoulder as he opened the door.

None of them noticed the black kitten escape between the old man's legs, out into the night.

"Your daughter is right," Madame Giry quickly agreed. "Come…Isabel will make us all a pot of her special spiced tea."

"To think that I actually considered that man a gentleman…" Daae muttered with disgust.

"Please, monsieur," Madame Giry murmured, coaxing the old man to sit down in her parlor. "Christine has been through enough tonight. Do not make it worse by giving her cause to worry over your well being."

Knowing that the ballet mistress was right, Daae sighed with defeat and collapsed into a chair across from his daughter. Madame Giry's housekeeper, Isabel, arrived moments later, after putting the kettle on, with her own small medical bag. She went to work tending to Christine's bruises, and despite her usual grumbling, Christine could tell that the housekeeper was truly sorry for what she had gone through tonight. "All men are bastards, if you ask me," she grumbled. "Especially the wealthy ones."

"Thank you, Isabel," Madame Giry cut in, not needing the housekeeper's commentary to go any further than need be. "Perhaps our tea is ready?" Isabel curtsied for her mistress, before disappearing into the kitchens once more, grumbling as she went.

"I should have waited for you," Daae sadly mumbled, reaching out and grasping his daughter's hand in his. "I'm so sorry Christine."

"Papa, no, please, do not blame yourself," Christine reassured. "I'm alright…bruises heal and fade, and hopefully Raoul will think twice before cornering me again."

Meg couldn't help but grin at her words. "I wish I had been there, I would love to have seen you kick him in the–"

"Meg Giry!" Madame Giry gasped.

"Oh Mama, he deserved it! Besides, serves him right after years of manipulating women at the opera house," the mirth in her voice slowly faded away. "I can't believe that I actually thought him handsome, that I actually desired–" she stopped her words short after the icy glare that her mother gave her.

Isabel brought in their tea, and a silence fell over the room as they sipped from their cups. Christine was torn; a part of her wanted to go to Erik immediately, to feel the comfort and safety that his arms offered, but had he seen her as she looked now, who knows what spasm of rage would flow through him? Such feelings of rage were not always the most sensible, in fact, they often blocked sense, and his defenses may not have been as keen as they normally were. Christine's hand fell to her stomach, a gesture that Madame Giry had taken immediate notice. Both women prayed that the babe growing inside Christine was safe, that the child had not been hurt by Raoul's hateful actions. Madame Giry shivered as she imagined Erik's wrath if anything had happened to the child.

"I think we should all get some rest," the ballet mistress suggested, rising from her chair. "Tomorrow is a very busy day, of course. It is the final dress rehearsal, and we shall also begin our search for a proper house for you both."

Christine smiled at the woman's words, remembering Erik's promise of finding them a house to live in after they were married. She murmured a thankful prayer for being able to retrieve her mother's locket and Erik's ring. Despite everything that had happened, she was glad that Raoul now knew the whole truth. Perhaps his interest in her would vanish, now knowing that Erik had beaten him to claiming her virginity. Perhaps the simple thought that she was entangled with the Phantom of the Opera would be enough to keep him away. She could only pray…

Daae kissed his daughter's cheek, a few of his tears falling against her skin. She hugged him close and whispered her goodnight to him, as he disappeared toward the servant's quarters. Meg also gave Christine a hug, insisting that the brunette take her room for the night, and she would share a bed with her mother. Christine reluctantly agreed, but thanked the dancer most sincerely. Madame Giry smiled, happy that Christine had found a friend with her daughter, and was ready to disappear into her bedroom, when she was stopped by a question.

"Madame Giry…may I…may I talk to you, just for a moment?"

The ballet mistress silently nodded her head, and went back into the parlor where Christine remained. "What is it my dear?"

Christine sighed and pulled the ring that she had rescued from Raoul, out of her pocket. "I…I wanted you to be one of the first to know," she whispered, revealing the diamond to the ballet mistress.

Madame Giry gasped as Christine revealed the elegant jewel. She looked into the young woman's eyes, her vision blurred by happy tears. "You…you and Erik?" she whispered.

Christine blushed, her own happy tears already beginning to drip down her cheeks. "Yes," she whispered, happily placing the ring on her finger. "Last night, I went to see him. He knows everything; that I never loved or wished to marry Raoul, that my heart has always been to him…and…" she smiled as her hand fell to her stomach.

Madame Giry smiled and placed her own hand over the girl's. "I'm so happy for you my dear…I'm happy for you both. Erik…" she found herself smiling at the memory. "Erik has had a hard life, and for many years has resolved himself to keeping his emotions and his heart locked away from others," she smiled at the girl and squeezed her hands. "I never thought I would live to see the day when Erik told me he was in love, and that someone returned his love…I never thought I would see the day when…when he would be married," she whispered in awe.

Christine blushed and smiled despite her tears. "He has promised me that we shall have a house here in Paris. The others will come with us, of course, and he will compose music and I will sing…" the emotion was so great that Christine could not continue.

Madame Giry smiled and touched the young woman's cheek tenderly. "Does your father know?"

Christine blushed and looked down at her stomach. "I…I haven't told him about the baby…to be honest, I just found out myself, last night…" a soft smile spread across her face. "He does know about my feelings for Erik, and his feelings for me, and in fact, one of the letters that I left in Box 5 was written by my father…" her eyes sparkled from the memory. "He has given both of us his blessing, and…oh Madame Giry, I…I just can't believe my good fortune. Is it possible to die from happiness?"

The woman smiled tenderly at the girl before her. "Oh my dear child…I am very happy for you both…" her hand had been softly caressing Christine's cheek, but she frowned as her fingers gently passed over one of Christine's bruises. "I always knew the Vicomte was a monster…no amount of handsome smiles or charming compliments could hide that." Christine saw the sorrow in the older woman's eyes, and could tell that Madame Giry was recalling an old memory. "Just like his father…in too many ways."

"Madame Giry?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, my dear, I did not mean to startle you."

"Oh no, you didn't," Christine reassured, but an old thought began to gnaw at her, a question that she was not sure she wanted to know the answer to, but was too curious to hold back. "Did…did you know a dancer named Marie?" she whispered.

Madame Giry's eyes widened slightly, before sorrow filled them once more. "You know about Marie?" she asked.

Christine felt ashamed for even asking. "Only a little," she murmured. "I know that Erik was in love with her once, that he had sent her poems, flowers, and songs…but she believed them all to be gifts from Raoul. And…and then one day, she disappeared."

"Yes," Madame Giry sighed sadly. "Erik was much younger then, only 19, but he was infatuated with the girl. Marie was a stunning beauty to be sure, as well as a promising dancer for a girl of only 15. But not always the wisest of girls, and she too easily fell to young Raoul's charms," she paused, her gaze drifting to the window. A light rain was falling. "Raoul was 16, but had been educated by his father to treat women like objects, rather than people. Raoul took a keen interest in Marie, and it wasn't long before he had lured her to his bed with promises of love and marriage."

Christine felt her heart break, both for Madame Giry and for Erik. "Erik said she ran away with Raoul…and she was never seen again."

Madame Giry shook her head. "That's not entirely true," she sighed. "I know this because she briefly kept a correspondence with some of the girls," Madame Giry shook her head, angry tears now filling her eyes. "Stupid girl. Her letters were boastful, and she bragged about how she had 'triumphed' at winning Raoul's heart…" the older woman quickly wiped her eyes as if she were ashamed of her tears.

"I had just given birth to Meg," she went on to explain, "and was too busy trying to be a mother instead of a ballet mistress, and when I wasn't watching, Marie agreed to run away with Raoul, believing he loved her, that he wanted to marry her…when in truth, his only interest in her was what she could do for him in the bedroom," she muttered bitterly. "Marie became Raoul's mistress, and they ran away into the country. His father, who was the Vicomte de Chagny at that time, was furious. He did not care if his son defiled my girls, but he refused to allow his son to keep one of them in his house, which was what Raoul had been doing."

Madame Giry sighed and turned away from the window. "As you can imagine, it came as no great surprise that Marie was pregnant. The Vicomte felt it best to have the girl removed to a cottage in the country, far from prying eyes and aristocratic gossip. Marie simply thought she was being sent somewhere until her baby was born…but it soon became obvious that Raoul had no intentions of ever marrying her, and after she gave birth to a boy, she chose to seek him out and demand that he acknowledge his son, the future Vicomte de Chagny."

"Oh no," Christine whispered, her hand covering her mouth. She had a feeling she knew where this was going…and dreaded it.

"You can imagine the Vicomte's horror when Marie arrived on the steps of the Paris Opera House, just after the opening gala of that season, demanding that he acknowledge his grandson, and let both her and Raoul marry at once. I was there, I saw the entire scene being played out…" she sighed and looked down at her folded hands. "I never told Erik…he was so angry, both with her for running away with Raoul, and with himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him. I felt it best to keep it a secret from him."

Christine could understand the woman's reasoning; after all, the truth would not do any good with helping the pain he was already feeling at the time. But there were still a few unanswered questions. "Do you know what became of Marie and her child after that night?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "The Vicomte took both his son and the girl by the arm and led them to his carriage, before the scene that was developing could grow even further. After that moment…I don't know what happened, Marie's letters stopped at that point," she sighed sadly. "I do know, however, that Raoul's father was a ruthless man, and was capable of committing the most horrible crimes for his own personal gain."

Christine shivered at the woman's words. She could understand how Raoul had become so menacing. "That was the last time I saw either Marie or the elder Vicomte. Two years past, and finally, Raoul returned, this time bearing his father's title. I never questioned him about Marie or the child…but I soon realized that he had, sadly, become just like his father–ruthless, arrogant, manipulative, and greedy. He's used his charms and good looks to lure many young foolish girls into his bed, and many of them were thrown out onto the streets as a result…losing their jobs for becoming pregnant, or losing their lives in giving birth or…" she bit back a sob, "…attempting to remove the babe themselves."

Christine gasped and found her hand moving to her stomach in a protective fashion. She had heard such stories, of women who were put under the knife to rid themselves of the babies they were carrying. She always wondered what could drive a woman to make such a decision…but the reality of a young woman, with no husband or family, and with a meager job that supplied her with food and a place to stay as one's only option from being homeless, starving, and selling one's body for profit…

It was a horrible decision that a woman had to make. A decision Christine prayed that she would never know. But she could not judge such women, especially when she herself was not facing such horrors that they were.

"He has bastards strewn all across France. But he could care less," Madame Giry muttered with great bitterness. "Just like his father…"

Christine looked at the older woman and saw deep pain in her eyes, as well as blinding hatred. "His father…did he…?"

"Yes," Madame Giry answered, her tone brittle and cold. "I was 14 when I came to the opera house, to live in the ballet dormitories. I was flattered by his compliments…he thought me pretty," she spat with disgust. "I was such a fool…and I vowed to never allow that to happen to my daughter, or to my girls if I could help it," she sighed. "Some of them I have failed…but I know that I can not be their mother, no matter how much I wish to protect them…I simply continue to work hard to see that I do not fail them as their teacher and mentor, and help them make wise decisions instead of foolish ones," she murmured, a soft sad smile spreading across her face.

Christine reached out and wrapped her arms around the ballet mistress. "Meg is a wonderful dancer, the best in the whole company…and you have done that. She is also kind, witty, and compassionate…as are many of the other girls. You have not failed them, Madame Giry, believe me, you have not."

The older woman smiled and hugged Christine close. "I am sorry I was not there to protect you from the Vicomte–"

"I'm alright," Christine reassured. "Truly. None of us could have known that he would be there, or to what lengths his jealousy would go."

Madame Giry shivered at Christine's words. The problem was she did know the lengths that Raoul's jealousy could go…and if he knew now that Christine was the Phantom's lover, she could only imagine what plots he was concocting to seek his revenge.

"Come, we should both get some rest," Madame Giry insisted. Christine nodded her head, although she could tell that something wasn't entirely right. However, she chose not to question it further, whispered her goodnight, before retreating to the room that Meg had offered.

Outside, the rain grew harder and harder. Thunder resounded in the air, and lightning filled the sky. Madame Giry looked out the window, watching as the storm became more and more brutal. A cold, frightening feeling took hold of her. Something was wrong; she could feel it in her bones. Both Raoul and Erik had horrible tempers and wrathful tendencies. She shivered as she imagined the two men, facing off in a heated battle, rage, jealousy, and hate fueling them as they fought. Such a battle seemed inevitable.

Madame Giry knew that sleep was impossible now, but with such a storm she dared not go out again. Tomorrow, as soon as she arrived at the opera house, she would find Erik and warn him. She could only pray that he would see sense; Raoul was capable of committing the vilest acts of villainy, and he would use Erik's compassion towards his friends against him if he could. Yes, tomorrow she would seek Erik out and insist that they move Rudolph and the others to someplace safe, somewhere hidden.

She only prayed that she was not too late…

 

* * *

 

Christine had just blown out her candle and was pulling the blankets up to her chin to keep out the cold night air, when the sudden sound of the windowpane, banging against the wall, startled her.

She turned around to see the window open, and gasped as lightning illuminated the tall, dark figure, that stood just inside. "Don't be afraid Christine, it's me," Erik murmured softly, his voice warm and soothing.

Christine couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice, and when lightning illuminated the room again, she could make out his face behind the black mask that he wore. "Erik, you're soaking!" Christine gasped, immediately rising from the bed.

"Yes, rain has a tendency to do that," he muttered, removing his hat and giving it a shake.

"What are you doing here?" Christine whispered, rushing to his side and helping him remove his soaking cloak.

Erik could not help but grin as he felt his beloved's nimble fingers unclasp his cloak and then begin to remove his jacket. "I received your letters, and I did not feel like waiting till tomorrow to see you again–"

His words stopped as the lightning once again illuminated the room, and for the first time, he saw Christine's bruises and the cut on her lip.

Christine realized this too, as she saw the horror fill Erik's handsome amber eyes, before turning into rage. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice beginning to rise with anger.

"I'm alright," Christine murmured as calmly as possible, hoping to reassure him, but she could tell that would not be possible.

"WHO DID THIS TO YOU?"

"Erik, please, it's not as bad–"

"The Vicomte…" he growled, his voice so low it seemed to be rumbling from the earth itself. "I'll kill him!" He turned then, as if prepared to fly out the window, into the storm-filled night to seek his vengeance.

"Erik, please!" Christine hissed, grasping his arm and using all her strength to pull him back into the room. "Please, stay with me."

"He _HURT_ you, Christine!" he nearly roared. Suddenly, his anger faded, and worry filled his eyes. "My God…he didn't–"

"No," Christine quickly reassured, a small smile spreading across her lips. "You would have been proud; with any luck, I may have broken his nose as well as other things."

Erik let out a sigh of relief, taking one of her small hands in his and lifting it to his lips. His other hand immediately fell to her stomach, and he softly caressed her there. "And the baby?"

"The baby is fine," Christine murmured, feeling her heart overflow with love for the man before her. He would be a wonderful father; she had no doubt about it.

Erik let out another shaky sigh of relief, but his anger had only melted away momentarily. Once again, rage filled his eyes. "When did this happen?" he snarled.

Christine sighed, and quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, not caring that his clothes were soaking wet, just needing to feel him close to her once more. She purred happily as she felt his arms, strong and warm, wrap around her body in a tender and protective manner. "I had gone to the apartment, to make sure Papa had gathered all of our things…he…he was there, but I did not know it."

Erik growled, and his arms tightened even more. "He ambushed you, that bastard," he hissed.

Christine tightened her own arms around him. She would hold him fast if it would keep him by her side and not venture out into the storm-filled night. "He knows everything, Erik," she whispered against his chest. "He knows that you and I are lovers…and…and he saw the ring."

Erik offered up a silent curse, although it was to himself and not the Vicomte. "I should never have given you that blasted ring–"

"No!" Christine protested. "Don't say that!"

"That ring has caused you more trouble than I could have imagined," he muttered, taking her left hand in his and bringing her fingers to his lips once more.

"Trouble that I would gladly face again and again," Christine argued. "I have no regrets, Erik…none. I am proud to be engaged to you, and I eagerly await the day when I will be your wife! So please…" she carefully removed his mask, so happy that he had such trust to show his face to her without protest. "Don't regret this. We have hidden from the world for long enough…let us not hide our love any further."

Erik gazed down at his future bride with such awe. She would never stop amazing him. However, his heart filled with sorrow and rage as he gazed at the bruises on her beautiful skin. "I will make the Vicomte pay for his crimes," he vowed, his fingers tenderly touching the marks the bastard had left behind. He knew that they would fade, that nothing could truly damage the beauty that radiated from his Christine…but he would forever be reminded that he was not able to fully protect her from the Vicomte's jealousy.

Christine did not like the idea of him fighting Raoul, especially when he was feeling such rage. If she could at least keep him from seeking his vengeance tonight…

"Stay with me?" she pleaded. "The storm is too strong for you to go back out now."

Erik eyed her suspiciously. "I know what you're trying to do Christine…" he sighed. "And you are right. I can not promise you that I will not seek out my vengeance, but for tonight, I will stay."

It was enough. "Thank you, Erik," she murmured with relief, hugging him tight. With strong, loving arms, he gently picked her up and carried her back to the bed. He removed his own wet clothes, smiling at her blush when he approached the bed, fully naked, and slid under the blankets, gathering her close to his body.

"Erik–"

"Ssshh," he whispered, his lips planting a soft kiss to her brow. "Sleep, my love. I will stay with you until dawn…"

Christine smiled and felt her eyelids grow heavy, as Erik softly began singing that song he had composed for her.

"Softly…deftly, music shall caress you…"

With her head pillowed upon her beloved's chest, she drifted into a sweet, peaceful slumber, knowing that her Phantom would keep her safe.

 

* * *

 

Raoul watched from the window of his carriage as Ronaldi and several of his men examined the sewage entrance. Raoul had to admit he was impressed by the gypsies work ethic; despite the storm that raged around them, they were determined to plot out their move of attack.

Several gypsies had disappeared into the sewer, and a short time later, reemerged. Ronaldi listened closely to the descriptions of his men, nodding his head in approval to their news. Raoul watched with curious eyes as the old silver-haired gypsy approached his carriage.

"Everything to your satisfaction?" Raoul asked.

"These few men will stay here and keep watch for any…activity," Ronaldi calmly explained. "Wouldn't do to have any of them escape on us, would it?"

Raoul shook his head, although he was anxious to hear about their plan. "And?"

"I will travel back to my camp and fetch more men…it is good to have numbers for this sort of thing," he explained.

Raoul simply nodded his head, despite the fact that he knew nothing about kidnapping and burglary.

"Sometime before dawn…we will attack," he whispered, his eyes locking with the sewage entrance.

"And…what about the…'display'…you have in mind for our masked friend?"

Ronaldi smiled. "Do not worry, monsieur. When the time comes for our 'display', you will know when."

Raoul smiled faintly to the older gypsy's laughter, but he was beginning to doubt the reliability that the man's plan would truly rid him of the Phantom.

"I suggest you go home and get some rest, monsieur," Ronaldi said, patting the door of the Vicomte's carriage. "No doubt you will need to think of some explanation as to why the opera house will be trembling tomorrow morning."

Raoul frowned at this. "I don't want any harm to come to the opera house! Is that understood? I just want the Phantom killed!"

"Not to worry," Ronaldi reassured. "Your precious opera house will be fine. But providing an explanation to what goes on is entirely your responsibility…and don't even think about mentioning my name," he threatened, the lightning illuminating the black depths of his eyes.

Raoul nodded his head in agreement and urged Daniel to drive the carriage home. A plan was already forming on how he could explain the ruckus that Ronaldi and his clan would be providing early tomorrow. He just hoped that this whole scheme worked, that the Phantom would no longer be a bloody thorn in his side. And as for the fair Christine…despite everything that had taken place that night, and despite the knowledge he had now acquired, he was more determined than ever to get her to marry him.

And he knew exactly how to go about doing it…

 


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of events leading to one explosive moment...

_**Dread** _

"Meow!"

Rudolph heard the sound and his eyes immediately flew open. He sat up in his bed, and looked around the chamber. The others were sound asleep, and the embers from the fire were slowly dying.

"Meow!"

He heard it again! "Carman?" Rudolph whispered. Carefully, quietly, he rose from his bed so as not to wake the others, and followed the sound, which seemed to be coming from one of the northwest tunnels…

 

* * *

 

As if on instinct, Erik awoke. It was still dark outside, but the rain had stopped, and he could sense the coming dawn.

He looked down at the angel who lay snuggled against him, her face pressed against his side, her head nuzzled in the crook of his arm. His fingers gently ran over her shoulder, marveling in the softness of her skin. She looked so peaceful that he did not wish to wake her. Yet he knew he had to leave before dawn's gentle rays fell upon the streets of Paris.

A smile crept across his disfigured face as he imagined a future when he would not have sneak in and out of windows to be with his beloved. When he could stay with her and wake with her when the sun rose. _Soon_ , he reminded himself. _Very soon_.

With a gentle kiss to her shoulder, he rose from the bed, pulling the covers up around her, snuggly tucking her in so that she would not be cold.

His clothes were semi-dry; he quickly dressed himself and placed the mask once more upon his face. He had no gift to leave her this time, but he knew she would understand. With one last look of longing at the woman who was so many things to him, he opened the window and quickly disappeared into the shadows that still hovered the streets.

 

* * *

 

Rudolph followed the plaintive mews down the dark passage. He knew it was Carman, for they were the same mews he had heard the day he found her freezing in the snow. She sounded as if she were in pain! Rudolph quickened his steps, wondering how she had gotten away from Christine, and if Christine was aware that Carman had somehow escaped?

"I'm c-c-c-coming, C-c-carman!" he cried out into the tunnel, paying no heed to the cold air that whirled around him.

 

* * *

 

Erik was a master of illusions and mystery. If he didn't want to be seen, he knew very well how to stay hidden.

The dark shadowy allys that so many people feared…as they should…were friends to him; welcoming sanctuaries of darkness that helped him move about with ease in this city.

Erik wondered what it would be like to live above ground once more. He was no stranger to the world above, when he so wished it, he could easily move about in it. However, he always moved about as a thief, or a stalker, staying hidden in the shadows, avoiding others at all costs. Instinct, he reminded himself. After spending his entire childhood and part of his young adult life in a cage, being spat upon and screamed at, being called a freak of nature and other horrible things…it was a wonder he dared to venture above ground at all.

He had not yet told the others of his engagement. They had to know by now that he and Christine were lovers, but he needed to tell them the plans and promises he had made to her.

She meant everything to him, and he would do whatever was necessary to make her happy and see that she lived comfortably. While Christine had adapted to his world so well during all those long months, he knew he could not deny her fresh air, sunlight, and human interaction. So he promised her a house, a home above ground, a place there in Paris, where the others could easily live with them without fear of being discovered or captured.

Or so he hoped.

Erik realized that he had not thought this plan through very well. He had convinced himself that by living in a house, they would have more safety, more privacy. After all, in their own house, that the law would rightfully recognize as their own personal and private property, the likelihood of someone breaking in, of someone trespassing, was not as high or as risky as living beneath the opera house…yes?

Erik frowned. Houses meant windows, and it would not be fair to keep the curtains drawn the entire time, blocking out the sun's warmth. How would it be any different than living below? But Erik could not deny that he was not entirely comfortable with the idea of moving about with open windows, and he knew the others would be less comfortable.

What more, a house in Paris meant…well…Paris!

Erik had never once considered composing to be a paid profession for himself; he had always viewed it as a passionate art that he lived and breathed for. But selling his compositions (and he had many already written) would not only help provide for the family he had coming, and the family that already existed, but would also show the world his genius. And Christine, his beautiful Christine, would perform in them, breathing life into his music as she was doing for _Don Juan_. No doubt fame would come her way…and perhaps his, and that was where the problem with Paris lay.

Paris was a city where it was impossible to stay hidden, especially from gossip. Erik never cared for the gossip he overheard at the opera house amongst the city's elite families, but he perhaps knew more than the newspapers did. People would begin to talk about Christine; who was her husband? Where did she live? What if she were invited to balls and parties? The thought of her traveling to such places alone sickened him, but what could he do? And what if the gossip became nasty once more? His poor angel had endured much already at the opera house, must she be subjected to more by the city's aristocrats?

Erik groaned, his heart growing heavy with worry. He wanted to be with her, he wanted to be her husband in every way possible, and he wanted to be a good father to their child. But he also wanted to do what was right for Suzette and the others! He leaned against a building to catch his breath, a puddle on the ground catching his masked reflection.

"Damn this face!" he growled to himself. It was the thing that kept him separated from the world around him! He stomped on the puddle, splattering the image across the ground. A momentary sense of satisfaction filled him.

And then…a new emotion filled him. A strange emotion, one filled with confusion and…apprehension.

Erik's brow furrowed; something wasn't right, he could sense it…

The sky turned an ashen gray, telling Erik that the sun was beginning to rise. Quickly, he continued his way back to the opera house, staying close to the shadows, praying that this strange, anxious feeling, was nothing more than pre-wedding jitters.

 

* * *

 

"Meow!"

Rudolph gave a sigh of relief as he finally found the tiny black kitten, mewing ever louder as he approached. She was stuck on a tall rock, unsure exactly how to get down, near a crack that he knew led outside. Rudolph knew that the entrance she was near had an elaborate booby trap, which would cut the heels and ankles of any intruder, crippling them from going further. Carman was so small, that she had easily slipped through the entrance without triggering the trap.

"W-w-what are you d-doing here?" Rudolph scolded, easily reaching up to rescue the kitten. "Y-you should be with Christine…s-s-she'll be so w-w-worried for you!"

The kitten began playing with Rudolph's large fingers, but stopped instantly, and let out a high-pitched hiss in the direction he had just been coming from.

Rudolph looked puzzled and turned his gaze to where the kitten was hissing. He couldn't see anything, but a strange chill went down his spine.

Something wasn't right.

"C-c-come on Carman," Rudolph murmured, putting the hissing kitten inside his shirt pocket. With heavy limped steps, he began to hurry back to where the others were sleeping.

 

* * *

 

"Christine?"

Christine yawned and opened her eyes to see Meg's pretty head peeking inside. "Good morning!" she cheerily greeted.

Christine smiled back at the dancer, blushing as she could still feel the warmth from Erik's body under the sheets. "Already?" she moaned, slowly sitting up and gazing out the window.

The sun was rising, and the birds were singing happily. It seemed as if the storm had brought spring to Paris.

"Mama seems quite anxious, and wants to leave early," Meg explained, fetching a pair of dance slippers from a drawer at the other end of the room. "Probably because Monsieur Gerard will no doubt wish to begin rehearsals as soon as possible…after all, tomorrow is the big day!" she grinned.

Christine smiled back, a strange feeling of peacefulness settling over her. Tomorrow was not only opening night of _Don Juan Triumphant_ , but also the opening night of her career as a singer. She should be nervous beyond belief! But instead, she felt a sense of tranquility and calmness…

"How are you feeling today?" Meg asked.

Christine slowly lifted her fingers to her cheek. "A little sore, but not too bad."

Meg nodded her head. "There is a little discoloration, but I think Isabel's remedies have helped keep the swelling down," she happily explained. "And the rest can easily be covered with stage make-up."

Christine smiled and nodded her head, before finally rising from the bed to get dressed. Meg turned to leave so that she could give Christine some privacy, but found herself pausing at the doorway. "Christine? I heard…singing last night."

Christine paled at first, and then felt a hot blush rise to her cheeks. Her back was to the dancer, and she was unsure exactly what to say. If Meg could see her face right now, her questions would never end!

"Ah well," Meg sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "My imagination, I guess. See you downstairs!" and with that, she shut the door.

Christine let out a sigh of relief. She wanted to tell Meg everything, to confide in her all that was happening. She had grown such a close bond with the girl in such a short amount of time, but she just had no idea how to begin explaining. With a shake of her head, Christine quickly got dressed before leaving with the others to the opera house.

 

* * *

 

Jacque sensed it immediately.

Danger…

He could smell it.

Something wasn't right, something strange, and alien, had just entered their world…and yet, there was something sinister and familiar about it as well.

"Gustave," he muttered, rising from his pile of rags and mattresses. "Gustave, wake up!"

The man with the clubbed feet and large arms practically fell out of his hammock when Jacque reached out and shook him from his sleep. "W-w-what?" he gasped, regaining his balance. "Jacque, what is the meaning–"

"Shut up!" Jacque hissed, putting a finger to his lips to indicate that silence was necessary.

Gustave looked at his friend with confusion, but a frown creased his features. Jacque could tell that Gustave was feeling it too, that same feeling of apprehension.

Gustave quickly climbed out of his hammock and swung himself down, easily and quietly, to where Suzette lay sleeping. "Suzette," he murmured. "Suzette, wake up."

The tiny woman opened her eyes and looked up at the other man with confusion. "Gustave? What–"

"Sshh," Gustave whispered. "Something's wrong."

Suzette sat up straight at her friend's words. She knew from the looks that both Gustave and Jacque wore that whatever was causing them worry, was serious. She turned towards Rudolph's bed, and let out a gasp as she realized it was empty.

"Where's Rudolph!" she practically squealed, clutching at Gustave's shirt.

Gustave shook his head helplessly, turning to Jacque with hopes that the hook-handed man would have an answer, but he too, looked just as puzzled.

"We have to find him, we have to–"

"GET THEM!"

The three turned their faces to where the battle cry had erupted, and suddenly, a hoard of gypsies burst through the entrance that lay just above their cavern.

"NO!" Jacque screamed in terror. His worst nightmare was coming true!

Gustave shouted his rage at the hoard that descended upon them, and charged with full fury, his giant arms and fists ready to send the men flying.

Suzette scrambled from her bed and started screaming Rudolph's name, moving as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. With a cry, she felt herself toppling to the ground, as something heavy landed on top of her.

"Bag her and get her in the sewer!"

Before she could cry out again, she felt the harsh fabric of burlap surround and trap her, and she was being hauled off the ground to some unknown and unseen place.

"SUZETTE!" Gustave shouted with rage, charging at the gypsy who had captured her. The sound of gunfire filled the cavern, and Gustave gasped as he felt a severe pain burst through his body.

Jacque stared in horror as his friend fell to his knees, groaning in pain. "You idiot!" shouted an all too familiar voice to Jacque's ears. "I said if you have to shoot, shoot them in the arm or leg! HE'S NO GOOD TO ME DEAD!"

Jacque's face paled at the sight of Ronaldi, who was pushing the gypsy who had fired at Gustave, off to the side. "Quickly," he ordered to several men. "Drag him up into the sewer and get him in the wagon! And use whatever means you can to stop his bleeding! Because if he dies, I'm going to put YOU in his cage!" Ronaldi turned then to see Jacque, cowering in a corner, his hook shielding his face, as if by simply lifting it, it would protect him.

"Jacque…" Ronaldi greeted with a smile. "It's been so long…"

Jacque began blubbering and curling himself up into a tighter ball, as if hoping to shrink away against the rock.

Ronaldi sighed and shook his head. "I see that you haven't changed one bit," he muttered, snapping his fingers. Several men appeared at that moment and immediately threw a burlap sack over his head, as well as tie both his arms behind his body. "Ever the sniveling coward," Ronaldi muttered with disgust. "Take him away."

"Sir!" Ronaldi turned to see two of his men emerging from one of the many dark tunnels that led out of the cavern. One of them was groaning and limping. "We can't find the hunchback anywhere!"

"Well I'm sure he's here somewhere," Ronaldi muttered. "Form a search party and tear this place apart! Who knows, there might be some spoils worth taking."

The two men looked at one another nervously. "I don't think that's a good idea…"

Ronaldi cocked a silver brow at their words. "What did you say? That sounded as if you were questioning my authority…"

The men paled. "No, it's just…well…those traps that the Vicomte mentioned, they're not just at the entrances; they're all over this place!"

"It's true!" the other man, who had been limping, cut in. "Some sort of wire lashed out at me leg!" he groaned, showing the blood that was flowing from his calf muscle.

"And besides…what if we run into the Half-Man?" the other asked.

Ronaldi rolled his eyes. "I'm surrounded by idiots," he muttered. "Fine! Get the gunpowder and lace it around this place…I don't need another hunchback anyway."

High in the caverns above, Rudolph watched in fear as the gypsies went to work. He watched them drag his friends away, he watched them go through their things, taking what they wanted, and he watched them pour endless amounts of gunpowder throughout the cavern and the tunnels beyond.

He quickly swallowed the sob that threatened to erupt in his throat, and backed away from the cavern. He had to find the Master…

 

* * *

 

"Good morning everyone!" Monsieur Firmin greeted as the cast filed out onto the stage. "Well, I'm certainly glad to see all of you here, bright and early, on this fine morning!"

There were a few smiles returned to Firmin's warm, happy greeting, but most of the company simply grumbled.

The older manager continued without notice. "Well, as you all know, tomorrow is our opening night of this…splendid…" anyone could tell he was forcing his words. "…work of music…" his words had disappeared into a mumble. "Anyway! This will be our final dress rehearsal, so please, full costumes and make-up, sets, props, and no breaks at any period other than when intermission shall be taking place!"

Several members of the company groaned, but nodded their heads. Christine was already dressed in the first costume she would be wearing, and she began to feel the nervous butterflies in her stomach. She looked around at the faces on stage. So many of the people around her were veterans of the stage, and were probably immune to the nervous feelings she was experiencing. She even glanced at Carlotta, who looked cool and collected…and somewhat cocky. As if she knew an incredibly big secret…

"Thank you for your…enthusiastic words, Monsieur Firmin," Monsieur Gerard mumbled, tapping his baton on his music stand. "Right, let us begin with the overture."

The stage quickly emptied and Christine went to sit in the chair that was designated for her off in the wings. She smiled as her father led the orchestra in its traditional warm-up, feeling so happy that his dreams were finally coming true as well. She turned her head to glance at Meg and the other ballet girls who stood nearby, stretching and preparing for their first scene. Christine frowned as she noticed Madame Giry was not amongst them. In fact, she did not recall seeing Madame Giry on stage during Firmin's speech.

On the carriage ride to the opera house that morning, the ballet mistress seemed tense and nervous. She said very little, and simply kept her gaze locked to the view outside. Christine didn't question the woman's behavior; she simply thought perhaps that she was feeling nervous for tomorrow's performance. But now she found herself wondering if perhaps Madame Giry's tenseness had anything to do with the story she had shared the previous evening.

"So…tomorrow you shall be performing before hundreds of people, some of which are the finest in all of France! Are you nervous?"

Christine didn't even have to turn her head to know that it was Carlotta who was speaking to her. "A little…" she murmured, knowing that if she lied, Carlotta would catch it instantly.

Carlotta grinned wickedly at the younger woman's revelation. "When I was a child, I too was often nervous," she sighed, taking a seat next to Christine.

Christine could not help but glare at the beautiful blonde soprano. "I'm twenty," she whispered.

Carlotta turned her head as if surprised that Christine had even spoken. "What was that?"

"I said, I'm twenty," Christine repeated. "That hardly makes me a child."

Carlotta's dazzling wicked smile spread even further. "Perhaps not in terms of actual age, my dear…but in terms of stage experience, I think you will find that it does."

Christine said nothing, she simply kept her gaze locked onto the stage while Piangi went forward to sing the first song from _Don Juan_.

"You know, I have always been curious," Carlotta sighed, turning her attention back to Christine. "Why did the Phantom choose you? I mean, I know he hates me," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Which is fine, for I despise him, the masked devil." Christine felt her teeth clench at the diva's cruel words. "But he could have chosen any girl in the company, and there are many…many who would _kill_ to be your shoes right now," she sighed, eyeing the young brunette, as if searching for faults. "So many girls with so much more stage experience…" she continued. "I wonder why he chose you?"

Christine turned her face to the prima donna, a fire burning in her blue eyes. "Perhaps he saw talent that no one else believed could exist in a young country girl without any stage experience?"

Carlotta grinned, happy that she was aggravating the young singer. "Perhaps," she sighed. "Or perhaps there is more to it than that…"

Christine rose to her feet, refusing to speak further on the subject. Besides, she would soon be entering the stage for her first song.

"Perhaps the Phantom favors you for different reasons…" Carlotta continued taunting. "Or should I say…Erik?"

Christine gasped and her eyes widened as she turned to stare at Carlotta. But before she could say anything, several members of the chorus were practically pushing her out onto the stage for her entrance.

Carlotta smiled smugly as the nervous girl began to sing her first song, her voice broken and shaky, causing the conductor to frown. This may be easier than she thought! With any luck, she'd convince the managers and the whole company to give her the part before the day was out.

 

* * *

 

Erik let out a curse as that horrible sense of foreboding continued to plague him.

He had entered his underground world through a way that he normally did not use: the ancient Parisian catacombs. It was darker than any of his other tunnels, and had more twists and turns, but it was one of the faster ways to his underground realm. There was an old mausoleum in a churchyard that led to the catacombs; the sun seemed to be rising faster than normal on this day, and Erik chose to take that entrance rather than continuing to keep to the shadows of Paris' ally ways. The only problem with the catacombs was that he could not run through them, as he could with his other tunnels. With so many twists and turns, one had to walk carefully and count how many steps they were taking, so as not to go down the wrong tunnel.

He continued to count his steps as he marched onward, muttering curses here and there, trying to understand what could be causing him this worry.

There was a strange smell in the air…and the smell that only increased his apprehension. "I should never have left," he muttered to himself. "I should have stayed here and waited to see Christine in the morning."

Erik tried to quicken his steps, praying that he would soon come to the end of this blasted tunnel so that he could finally break out into a run.

 

* * *

 

Madame Giry cursed as she once again, found another of Erik's secret entrances barred and locked from the other side. Damn him! She remembered how not long after Christine had returned to the world above, that all of the Phantom's secret passages, at least all of the ones she knew, were barricaded from the other side to keep trespassers out.

There were a few more passages that she had not tried, the problem was that they were in plain sight of the performing company at the moment, and she did not wish to cause further suspicion. Perhaps she could figure out how to open the mirror in Christine's dressing room? And what of the vent in the chapel? They were worth a try, surely.

She picked up her skirts and hurried along, determined to find Erik and warn him. While she had not seen any sign of the Vicomte, she could not shake the horrible sense that he was plotting something terrible…

 

* * *

 

"Firmin!" Andre hissed. The older manager groaned and turned his head to his partner who had just entered the auditorium. "I need to speak with you at once!" the younger man pleaded.

Firmin rolled his eyes. "Can it not wait?" he whispered, glancing to the stage where Mademoiselle Daae was attempting to sing her first song, and in his opinion, rather poorly.

"No!" Andre hissed again. "This is extremely important!"

Firmin groaned and nodded his head, rising from the chair he had been occupying, and following the younger manager out of room. "This had better be good," he grumbled once they were in the foyer.

"He sent us a another letter," Andre finally informed, his voice shaking with concern.

"What!" Firmin snatched the note out of Andre's hands and began reading it carefully. "'If things do not go according to my plans…a disaster beyond your imaginations will occur'," he read. "What the bloody hell does he mean by that!"

"I don't know!" Andre cried, his voice sounding somewhat hysterical. "This is the first note we've received ever since that Daae woman took the lead role! What could he possibly be complaining about! We've followed his instructions to the line, we've cast who he's wanted–"

"Get a hold of yourself, Andre!" Firmin grumbled, examining the letter further. "Strange…"

"W-w-what?" Andre stuttered, attempting to keep himself calm.

"Well…it's different from the other letters," Firmin explained.

"What? How do you mean?"

Firmin continued to examine it closely, re-reading it several times. "Well…in the past, his letters have always been so…well, detailed," he explained. "And this one is rather…ambiguous."

Andre rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? He says that if we do not follow his plans, he will do something terrible! What can be more detailed than that!"

"Yes, but why!" Firmin practically shouted, his patience waning. "The Phantom has always explained what his plans are…and you said so yourself, we are following his instructions…so why on earth would he threaten us?"

"Because he's a murdering madman!" Andre shouted, throwing his hands up in irritation. "We're ruined…this opera is going to ruin us!"

"Shut up," Firmin grumbled. "We'll just do as the letter says, we'll continue following his instructions, and prepare for tomorrow evening."

Andre reached out and gripped Firmin's shoulder. "Do you…do you suppose it's because he has learned–"

"No," Firmin hissed, looking all around the foyer nervously. "He can't possibly know that…so don't start acting hysterical and giving anything away!"

The younger manager mutely nodded, and followed his partner back inside the auditorium, determined to remain calm and focus on tomorrow's performance. He tucked the Phantom's note inside his jacket, a sense of worry washing over him as he could not help but imagine what disasters the Phantom would bring their way if they angered him.

However, Firmin's question in regards to the letter's details did arise one question in Andre's mind. The letter had been left in their office, as all of the Phantom's notes had been left in the past. But unlike those other notes, this one lacked the Phantom's unique and menacing red seal…

 

* * *

 

Madame Giry pushed a strand of her hair that had fallen from its pins, out of her face. She was making progress with the vent in the chapel, nearly prying the rough iron open. She knew this entrance well, but whenever Erik had summoned for her in the past, he had been the one to open it, not she.

She had taken a stagehand's hammer and had spent the last fifteen minutes prying at the vent's iron edges, working against the opening mechanism to the passage. "Finally," she muttered, praying that no one would enter the chapel at that moment to see what she was doing.

She had just managed to pull enough of the vent away for her to slip through. Holding the hammer up as a weapon against any intruders that she would find, she entered the passage, praying that she was not too late.

 

* * *

 

"That's the last of it!" a man shouted to Ronaldi.

Satisfied, the older gypsy nodded his head. "Do it," he simply commanded, before turning to exit out the way they had come.

With an evil grin, a small group of men threw their empty barrels of gunpowder to the side, before lighting a match, and throwing it down on the small trail of black dust. Without a moment's hesitation, they turned and ran towards the secret sewage entrance that had gained them access to the Phantom's realm.

 

* * *

 

Erik flew through his tunnels, finally free from the blasted catacombs. The smell was everywhere! It was an odd combination of scents; sweat, blood, smoke, alcohol, and something else…something that he could not describe, but that filled him with dread.

"SUZETTE!" he roared, his voice filling the tunnels and the caverns beyond. "JACQUE! GUSTAVE! RUDOLPH!"

He ran faster, and faster, in the direction of their chamber. He continued screaming their names; dread filling him to the core when they would not answer. It occurred to him then that the foreign scents that were invading his nostrils belonged to men…a hoard of men, men who should not be there, men who had gotten past his traps, men who had somehow managed to get inside!

He screamed their names once more as he turned a corner, before closing his mouth and freezing in horror at the sight before him…

 

* * *

 

Madame Giry gasped, ignoring the pain that throbbed in her side as she continued to make her way down towards Erik's hidden world. "Erik!" she cried. "Erik!" She did not think she was so far away that he could not hear her, but she continued to hurry, hoping that she would find him and warn him before anything happened.

And then a strange smell hit her, as if she had run right into a wall.

Madame Giry coughed as the smoke filled her lungs…and then her eyes widened with horror as she realized what exactly was happening…

 

* * *

 

"Recall those times, look back on those years, think of the things we'll never do…"

Christine continued singing her song, a sweet pleasant smile plastered across her face, despite the fact that inside, she was frowning with displeasure.

She was singing horribly! She could hear the constant breaks in her voice, the way it trembled, and while she hoped she at least looked professional, standing tall, looking calm, she was even beginning to doubt her acting capabilities. The more Monsieur Gerard, and the two managers frowned, the more her doubts spread.

She could not help but throw a glance towards Carlotta, who was grinning evilly off to the side. She had said those things in order to make Christine look like a fool…and Christine knew she was a fool for allowing the witch's words to get the better of her.

She lifted her chin, determined to not let Carlotta win this battle, determined to prove to anyone that she was capable of singing this role, of being the lead. "There will never be a day when, I won't think of–"

Christine's singing stopped and a scream escaped her lips as the ground beneath her feet shook violently.

Others quickly joined Christine's scream, adding their own to the growing chorus. Carlotta let out an ear-piercing shriek, rushing towards Piangi who was crying out in Italian. The ballet girls were squealing and clinging to one another as the ground continued to tremble ferociously. The orchestra began coughing as smoke filled their pit from the vents just beneath them, and several stagehands rushed onto the stage, screaming "fire!"

"Good God! What is this, an earthquake!" Andre cried.

Firmin didn't answer, but a horrible feeling filled the pit of his stomach. "Everyone outside!" he ordered.

No one needed to be told twice; the whole company was running towards the exit, screaming and crying as they went. Several stagehands stayed behind, rushing to get buckets of water to put the fire that had suddenly and mysteriously erupted back stage, from beneath one of the trap doors. Daae rushed onto the stage to help bring his daughter to safety, while Meg was searching frantically for her mother.

"I can't find Mama!" she shouted over the screams.

Christine looked about frantically, wanting to help her friend. But her eyes fell on the trap door, the same trap door that she had disappeared through all those months ago when she entered the Phantom's world for the first time. She saw the flames raging from within, and watched as the stagehands desperately threw buckets of water onto the roaring fire.

"CHRISTINE!" her father cried as she bolted towards her dressing room. She did not hear the screams all around her; she did not hear her father and Meg shout out her name, she had only one thought on her mind…

Erik.

She needed to get through that mirror, to run down and see if he and the others were alright! She remembered how Madame Giry had told her that breaking the glass would do no good, but she didn't care, she was desperate, she had to find him! She had to find Rudolph, Suzette, and the others! She had–

"Not that way my dear!"

Christine came crashing into Madame Giry, who was covered with smoke and ash, and who was coughing violently. Christine's eyes widened in disbelief, realizing that the woman had just emerged from the opera house chapel, which lay only a few feet away from her dressing room. She looked into the chapel and gasped at the smoke that was billowing in from the vent at the far end of the room. She began to move toward it, but the ballet mistress held her fast.

"No Christine! There's nothing down there but flames and falling stone!"

Christine froze at the woman's words. She looked up into Madame Giry's dark eyes, her own brimming with frightened tears. She saw the truth in their black depths, a sad, horrifying truth that chilled her blood.

At that moment, Christine's father and Meg entered the chapel. "Mama!" Meg gasped, running to her mother and throwing her arms around the older woman. Madame Giry let out a thankful prayer as she hugged her daughter tightly. "Where were you?" the girl demanded, her own frightened tears falling down her cheeks. "I was so scared!"

"I'm alright," Madame Giry reassured, continuing to hug her daughter tightly. "But we must leave this place, now, before the fire rages out of control."

"F-f-fire?" Daae gasped, his hands grasping Christine's shoulders. She looked ready to faint any second.

"Yes…I don't know what happened…some sort of…explosion it seems!"

Christine felt her legs suddenly go weak and the color drain completely from her face. She took one trembling step towards the vent, needing to find him, needing to know he and the others were safe, that they were not harmed, but both Daae and Madame Giry pulled her away.

"We must get outside, now," Madame Giry ordered sternly, hoping that her tone would hurry them. With his arm wrapped around his daughter's waist, Daae helped lead Christine out of the opera house, while Meg helped her mother, who was coughing and gasping for air.

Once outside, the whole company stood huddled on the steps that led up to the grand Paris Opera House, staring at the building which stood tall and beautiful, but where strange flames licked the bottom levels, and smoke billowed from sewer vents that ran beneath it.

A bell sounded, and suddenly a large horse-drawn wagon came crashing around the corner, stopping right in front of the opera house, while dozens of firemen leapt from the wagon and quickly climbed the steps to enter the still magnificent looking building.

Christine clutched at her father's coat weakly, feeling the world spin around her. While others gazed up at the opera house, her gaze fell to the sewer vent that she had traveled through only a few nights ago.

She felt her stomach twist and churn as she watched black ominous clouds rise from within. She did not know what had happened, but she found herself questioning if a person could survive such an atrocity. Were Rudolph and his friends down there? Had they made it to safety? Was Erik with them? She swallowed the lump in her throat, the sickened feeling churning more and more.

Their world was vast! Surely they had managed to escape, taken one of the many dark passages that she had not even begun to explore while she had been there. Surely they were alright…surely…

She couldn't hold it back any further; she bent over and began retching whatever was in her stomach.

Her father pulled her hair away, his hand running soothing circles over her back. He knew exactly what was troubling his daughter; he could feel her heart breaking…it was the same feeling he had experienced when her beautiful mother had died.

"Papa!" she wailed, throwing her arms around his neck and letting out an anguished cry.

"I know," he whispered into her hair, "I know."

She sobbed against him, burying her face against his shoulder, crying for the loss of her friends, for the loss of their home, and for the loss of her beloved. She prayed that they had made it to safety, that perhaps they weren't even there when the disaster struck.

But one look into Madame Giry's sad eyes, and Christine knew that all hope was gone.

No one could survive such an event…not even the legendary Opera Ghost.

 


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of her mourning, Christine makes an incredible decision which surprises everyone...as well as reveal her deepest secret...

_**Sorrow** _

"It was like an earthquake! The ground just…shook! Like nothing I've ever felt before!"

Inspector LeDue nodded his head to Andre's explanation of what had occurred at the Paris Opera House, although his brow was creased with confusion. Not long after the fire brigade had been called out, he also received the news that some sort of "explosion" had occurred at the legendary theater. However, when he had arrived, the building still seemed to be intact. It wasn't until he began questioning the two managers that he had learned that the explosion had taken place beneath the opera house.

"Do you have any idea as to what may have caused it?" LeDue asked, carefully examining the stage, taking note of several chard floorboards.

"None whatsoever," Firmin sighed. "We never ordered any sort of construction, and were not told that the city would be doing any sort work…it came as a complete shock to all of us!"

LeDue silently nodded his head. "Is there anything beneath the opera house that could perhaps trigger such a violent reaction?"

Both managers glanced at one another. The chief inspector turned around to face them, immediately taking note of their wary expressions. "Well?"

"All that's down there are…old props and costumes…" Firmin mumbled.

"In fact…we never use the items down there," Andre added.

LeDue looked even more confused. "I don't understand…are you saying that this simply…occurred by itself?"

"No, they're saying that the bloody Phantom was behind it."

The two managers and the chief inspector turned to see the Vicomte de Chagny enter the auditorium, his handsome features marred by a dark expression.

"Monsieur!" both managers cried, rushing towards him.

"Oh thank God you're here!"

"You won't believe the madness we've endured!"

"Explosions, threats, hysterical actors–"

"We could have lost our lives!"

"Calm down," Raoul softly ordered, to which the two men immediately ceased their speech. The Vicomte kept his eyes locked on LeDue, whose face was turning a bright shade of red, knowing exactly what the handsome nobleman was thinking. Raoul then began to look over the stage, noticing, thankfully, that any damage that had been done was at a bear minimum. Still…it was too close to call, in his opinion.

"Are you satisfied, LeDue?" Raoul questioned, folding his arms across his broad chest and glaring at the chief inspector.

LeDue paled at the Vicomte's words. "S-s-satisfied? Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean your insistence that I, and everyone else at this theater, were completely mad for believing that a masked lunatic and his army of freaks, lived beneath this place and was capable of anything!"

Everyone shrank at the sound of the Vicomte's roar. LeDue attempted to show some courage; after all, he felt it somewhat unfair to blame this whole incident on him. "Now s-s-see here," he stammered. "I told you that I was now starting to see what you were talking about–"

"Ah yes, that's right," Raoul muttered with great sarcasm. "Better late than never, eh?"

LeDue was at a loss for words by the Vicomte's accusation. "N-now s-see here!" he stammered with embarrassment, glancing briefly at the two managers who were now sharing the Vicomte's same glares of disdain.

"It doesn't matter," Raoul grumbled with a wave of his hand. "The damage has been done. Let us at least be thankful that it wasn't the entire opera house that he chose to blow up!"

When Raoul had received word about the explosion, it had sounded far worse than how Ronaldi had explained it would be. He cursed the silver-haired gypsy as his carriage carried him to the opera house, only to let out a sigh of relief when he arrived to find that the building remained standing. However, now as he surveyed the damage, which was not great from what anyone could see on the ground level, and as he heard the stories that were flying around from the various chorus members that he had past on his way into the auditorium, as well as from the two managers, Raoul began to see how this whole incident may, in fact, play in his favor.

The truth of the matter was that Raoul was not entirely convinced that the explosion had truly killed his nemesis. He listened in great detail to the reports of how the ground shook, to the flames that had burst through the trap doors, thinking that it was unlikely anyone could survive such a thing…but still, his paranoia remained.

"I just don't understand it…" Andre murmured. "Why would he do such a thing?"

Raoul opened his mouth to reply with the usual retort, that the Phantom was a devil and a madman, but suddenly, a new plan was forming…

"May I see this note that he left?" he inquired. LeDue had been holding the letter, and reluctantly handed it over to the Vicomte. "A disaster beyond your imagination will occur…" he read out loud. "I think, gentlemen, that he was sending us a warning."

"A warning?" both managers said together, looking confused.

Raoul nodded his head. "Absolutely, it's the only thing that makes sense! He must have learned of our plans to capture him; that we were simply putting on this whole opera as a means to take him prisoner…and so he chose to frighten us by showing how vast his madness is, as a means to intimidate, even dare us to follow through with our plan."

"Worked for me," Andre muttered to his partner.

LeDue scratched his mustache. "You're suggesting that the Phantom destroyed his own underground lair as a means to create a diversion so that he could escape before your plan was put into motion?"

"No," Raoul said with a shake of his head. "I'm suggesting that he learned of our plans…and chose to send us a message." He could not help but grin as he noticed he had the three men's attention. "Think about it gentlemen…what reasons can you grasp by him destroying his own home?"

LeDue immediately had the answer. "Lack of evidence."

"Exactly!" Raoul exclaimed. "He destroys all proof that he once lived beneath the opera house so that none of it can be used against him. And, by willingly destroying his secret underground world, he is sending us a message…a message of warning…"

"Indeed," LeDue added, catching on to the Vicomte's theory. "He's telling us 'if I'm willing to destroy my own home…just think what I will do to your theater.'"

Both Firmin and Andre paled at the chief inspector's words.

"But he made a vital mistake…" Raoul continued.

"He did?" Firmin asked.

Raoul nodded his head. "He assumed we were going to storm his fortress, attempt to overtake him on his own territory…"

Firmin and Andre exchanged confused glances. "We weren't?"

"Of course not!" Raoul groaned in annoyance. "Why go hunting, when you can lure your prey to you?"

The two managers exchanged glances at one another, before slowly beginning to smile with revelation to what their dear patron was saying.

"Wait," LeDue interrupted. "You actually believe that…that he's still alive?"

_I hope not_ , Raoul thought to himself. In truth, he did not know, but he wasn't prepared to take any chances. "What point is there in killing himself?" Raoul questioned. "Where would be his triumph then? It is a possibility that he was unable to escape his elaborate explosion," he sighed. "But perhaps that is exactly what he wants us to believe? Perhaps he assumes that we will not be expecting him, or that we will cancel his opera?"

"Oh God," Firmin groaned. "What are we going to do about the opera? Tomorrow is opening night! The papers will be filled with news about the explosion, it will ruin–"

"Calm down, Firmin," Raoul interrupted, his hand gripping the older manager's shoulder tightly. "What have I told you about scandal? No matter what, it always sells tickets."

Andre looked just as shocked as his partner. "Are you suggesting that we go on with it?"

"Absolutely," Raoul confirmed. "Why, I just learned yesterday that we've sold practically every seat! When was the last time you can remember a full house? Everyone is talking about this opera…even at my own clubs, all anyone can talk about is _Don Juan Triumphant_ and who the new star is." He could not help but grin as he imagined all the money they would make from both the Phantom's opera, and his "disaster". "Carlotta herself could not bring us such publicity. This explosion will surely help us sell out, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if we had people lined up just hoping to stand in the foyer tomorrow!"

Both managers were grinning from ear to ear as they too began to imagine all the money that would be pouring in.

"And as for our dear chief inspector," Raoul continued, smiling at LeDue. "This will be your opportunity to redeem yourself."

LeDue frowned at the Vicomte's words. "Now see here, you can not blame me or my men for–"

"Think of the heroism that will fall upon you and your office if you capture the Phantom?" Raoul murmured, attempting to make his plan sound as intriguing as possible. "You and your men stand guard at every entrance and backstage with your guns loaded and waiting…and we know he will make an appearance with Mademoiselle Daae performing."

"That's right!" Firmin cut in. "She's the bait that will lure him!"

Raoul continued smiling, despite the fact that he could feel his neck muscles twitching at the thought Christine bedding that monster. "As soon as we spot him, we take him down!"

LeDue smiled faintly, still showing that he was not entirely sure about this plot, and doubting very much that the creature could still be alive. But one thing the Vicomte had mentioned was right, even if LeDue did not wish to admit it. He knew about the creature, he knew that it existed, that the Vicomte had been correct with all the evidence he had shown…and now a disaster had taken place, which thankfully had not taken any known lives. But who knows what would happen should he continue to ignore the existence or the threat of the supposed "Phantom of the Opera".

"Very well," LeDue agreed. "My men and I will be here tomorrow evening, standing guard and standing prepared should the fiend arrive."

Raoul could not help but smile smugly. "Excellent. Now, Firmin, Andre," he said turning to the two managers. "I think it's best that you bring in the rest of the company and explain to them that we shall be continuing as planned, for tomorrow night."

Both men nodded their heads, and immediately went out into the foyer where the company was waiting to hear word on what was going on. Meg Giry, who had been standing and talking with several other ballet girls, took immediate notice that Christine was nowhere in sight. She left her small group of friends to search for the brunette, having a sneaking suspicion of where she may have gone.

To no surprise, Meg was right as to where Christine was. She found the young woman in her dressing room, crumpled on the ground, sobbing, and desperately trying to pry the hinges from her mirror off with a hammer. "Christine?" Meg asked in a tentative voice. She knew Christine had been upset when the explosion had occurred, but she was still unsure as to why.

"I have…I have to get down there," Christine mumbled through her sobs, still trying to pry the mirror open.

Meg slowly approached the crying woman, unsure exactly what to say or do. "Get down there?"

"Yes," Christine choked, "I…I need…I need to know…"

Meg was very confused, but felt her heart swell with sadness for her friend. "Need to know what, Christine?"

"I…I…I need to know…" she sobbed, her efforts with the hammer slowing. "I need to know if…if he's alright…if…if…I…" she dropped the hammer and crumpled completely, her head falling against the mirror's smooth surface, as the tears overwhelmed her. "Oh Meg…" she wailed in utter despair.

The ballerina quickly fell to her knees and gathered Christine's sobbing form in her arms, hugging her friend tightly. "It's alright Christine…it will be alright," she attempted to soothe, although she had a hard time believing her own words. How could she expect Christine to believe them?

Christine clung to the small ballet girl, her body weak and tired from crying, her heart overflowing with sorrow. After the fire brigade had finished dousing the flames and given the all clear, she was one of the first to hurry back inside. She flew to the chapel where Madame Giry had emerged earlier, but much to her despair, found the small passageway blocked by several large rocks that had caved in. The police arrived shortly after, and were keeping the rest of the company in the foyer while the chief inspector examined the auditorium along with the managers. Christine's only other choice was the mirror in her dressing room. Had she thought about it, she would have asked Erik when they were together the other day how he opened the mirror. She had been tempted to break the glass, hoping still that somehow she'd find a door on the other side. But a part of her couldn't bear to break it; what if she ruined any chance at him returning to her? Perhaps it was the only way out for him now? Of course…that all depended whether he was still alive…and her doubts were growing more and more.

"Meg? Christine?"

Both girls looked up to see another ballerina standing in the doorway of the dressing room.

"Is…is everything alright?"

Meg nodded her head. "We're fine, Louise."

The girl gave a faint smile, but still looked worried. "You both best come into the auditorium. The Vicomte is here–"

Christine's head snapped up. "The…the Vicomte de Chagny is here?"

Louise smiled a little more and nodded her head. "Yes, and he wishes to address all of us."

Christine felt her blood begin to boil. She didn't know how exactly…but deep inside she knew that Raoul was to blame for all this.

Meg immediately noticed the change in her friend. "Thank you, Louise," she quickly replied, hoping that the girl would take her leave. Christine rose to her feet, and Meg quickly followed. "Christine, you don't have to go out there," she intervened. "I will tell you everything, but you don't need to leave, you don't have to face him."

"Yes, I do," Christine murmured, her tone somewhat harsher than normal. She walked out of the dressing room, and immediately took one of the side doors that led directly into the auditorium. The whole company was sitting, facing the stage…and there he stood, tall, proud, and extremely arrogant, addressing them as a dictator addresses his troops.

"I know that this harrowing experience was traumatic for many of you," he spoke with rehearsed sympathy. "And like you, I too have many questions: why did this happen? What was the meaning behind it? And perhaps the most important question, how exactly should we respond?"

A soft murmur went up around the auditorium; that was exactly what many of the company's members were thinking.

"Well, after careful consideration, and much discussion with our fine managers, we have decided to continue things as planned."

The murmur suddenly erupted into a great din of voices, many of which were gasping with surprise and protesting to the Vicomte's announcement. Even Christine was shocked. They wanted the opera to go on?

"Tomorrow is opening night, and _Don Juan Triumphant_ will go on as planned," Firmin stated quite firmly.

"Here! Here!" Andre heartily replied, although he was one of the few voices to respond positively.

"This is crazy!" Piangi cried. "We could have been killed! And you want us to carry on?"

"It's a necessity, signor," Raoul muttered.

Carlotta lifted a brow at Raoul's words. "A necessity? How do you mean?"

Raoul groaned, although inside he couldn't stop grinning. "If you must know," he sighed, pulling a letter from the inside of his jacket, "we owe our thanks for this underground display of fireworks to none other, than the Phantom of the Opera."

A great gasp went up from around the auditorium, including Christine. However, unlike the others, she was fuming with anger as Raoul waved the letter like a flag.

"Our dear Phantom sent us a warning…" Raoul continued to explain. "He says that unless things go according to his plans, a disaster beyond our imaginations will occur."

Another murmur went up around the auditorium. No one could understand it! Why would the Phantom threaten them? Weren't they doing everything he had asked?

Christine was gripping the armrests of her chair, her anger raging. Were they actually blaming Erik for this? Were they actually suggesting that he would destroy his entire world and commit suicide…just to frighten them?

"Well, he tried to frighten us, showing us the evil he is capable of committing. And I, for one, am tired of being bullied by some masked fiend!"

Several people in the auditorium began to grumble with agreement, while the others continued to look around warily, as if not convinced that the Opera Ghost was not watching.

"So we shall continue with our plans and show him once and for all that this is our theater!"

A rumble of applause went up from the auditorium, many people nodding their heads to the Vicomte's words. Christine on the other hand, couldn't stand it any longer. "He would never do such a thing!"

Raoul's victorious smile faded instantly at the sound of Christine's voice. Everyone turned to stare at the young woman who had spoken in the Phantom's defense.

Christine lifted her chin and held her head high. "Do you honestly think that the Phantom would destroy his underground realm simply to frighten us?"

Raoul felt his jaw tighten. "He's a lunatic," he growled. "He's capable of anything."

"He's a genius!" Christine retorted, causing several people to gasp in surprise. "And it makes no sense!"

"It's right here!" Raoul bellowed, throwing the letter up into the air. "Written in his own hand, plain as the eye can see!"

"From what I have heard, the Phantom's letters have always been detailed with clear and concise instructions. Why would he be so ambiguous now?"

"Well forgive me, mademoiselle, but you have not been dealing with this villain for as long as we have!" Raoul spat back. "He is capable of committing the most vile crime! He is mad enough to take his own life in the process of taking ours!"

"He would never do such a thing!" Christine shouted back.

"He's a demon! A monster! A–"

"HE'S NOT A MONSTER! YOU ARE! AND I KNOW YOU ARE THE ONE BEHIND THIS!"

Everyone gasped and stared in shock and horror as Christine screamed her accusation upon the Vicomte. Yet no one was as shocked as Raoul himself. "She's hysterical," he muttered to the managers. "Get her out of here before she further causes a scene."

Firmin and Andre had been frozen to their places the whole time, but quickly broke from their trance at Raoul's words. "Yes, of course," Firmin muttered, signaling to several stagehands to come forward. "Take Mademoiselle Daae to her dressing room…she is clearly upset from today's trauma."

"What?" Christine gasped, and then she began to struggle against the strong grip of the stagehands as they held her by the shoulders and began to pull her away. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! LET ME GO! DAMN YOU RAOUL!"

Raoul turned his back on her shrieking, his face dark with rage and jealousy. Even now, she defended that creature. How he despised that monster, more than anything else in this world.

"Monsieur? Do you think it's wise for Mademoiselle Daae to continue performing as planned?" Andre whispered. "Perhaps we should have Carlotta–"

"No," Raoul growled, deep and low. "Christine will perform, that's who the people want to see anyway…they've heard too much about this chorus girl-turned opera star. But take control!" he hissed. "Don't let them even think about this morning…have them rehearse for as long as it takes…but do not let them dwell on today's events."

Both managers quickly nodded their heads, too intimidated to contradict their patron. A slow breath escaped their chests as they watched the Vicomte turn on his heel and exit the auditorium, causing the doors to bang loudly behind him.

"Well!" Firmin coughed, looking stern. "Come now Monsieur Gerard! We have an opera to perform!"

The conductor groaned and rolled his eyes as he rose from his chair. "Come along everyone," he grumbled.

Meanwhile, Christine continued to struggle against her "prison guards". "Let her go!" Madame Giry hissed, appearing around a corner, surprising them. They didn't have to be told twice, and quickly dropped her arms. Madame Giry wrapped a protective arm around Christine's shoulders, glaring at each of the stagehands until they all turned and quickly retreated the way they had come. Madame Giry turned then to Christine, her voice a gentle whisper. "Are you alright my dear?"

"NO!" Christine shouted, her anger and sorrow brimming over. "You know Erik would never do such a thing!"

"I know, my dear, I know," Madame Giry murmured, leading Christine towards her dressing room.

"I'm not crazy, Madame Giry, you know that!"

"Of course I do!" the ballet mistress replied, squeezing Christine's hand. "And like you, I too believe that Erik would never do such a thing, let alone write such a letter."

"The letter…" Christine whispered. "Where did they get that letter?"

Madame Giry sighed and shook her head. "I don't know…but I find it hard to believe that it was written by Erik's hand."

Christine turned and gripped the older woman by the shoulders. "You have to take me to him," she implored. "Please Madame Giry, you must show me how I can get down there, and–"

"Christine…" Madame Giry felt her own heart breaking with having to tell the young woman the sad news, but it couldn't wait another moment. "Christine…I…I saw it happen. I heard the explosion, I smelled the gunpowder…and I saw his world go up in flames and cave in." She bit her lip, knowing this was going to be hard for the girl to understand, and extremely hard to tell her, especially when Madame Giry could see the hope dying in the girl's blue eyes. "No one…no one could survive such a–"

"No!" Christine cried. "Don't…don't say that!"

"My dear, it would be a miracle if Erik, or the others, survived. The damage that was done was great indeed; it wasn't just fire or falling stone that threatened their lives…but the smoke was so great, how could anyone not choke on it?"

Christine felt her head spin. She couldn't believe it, she just couldn't! Or was it that she didn't want to believe it?

Madame Giry hated herself for smashing the girl's hopes…but would it have been worse allowing her to hope when it was not possible? She carefully led Christine to the chaise lounge in her dressing room, and helped her to lie down. "Get some rest," she murmured, smoothing a few stray curls from her brow. "I will check on you later."

Christine said nothing; she didn't even nod her head. The tears that flowed down her cheeks were cold and silent, for that was exactly how she felt…hollow. Just like the ruined realm that lay beneath the Paris Opera House.

 

* * *

 

Raoul was fuming.

Christine's words continued to echo in his ears during the whole ride home.

_Monster_. She had called _him_ a monster!

And she continued to defend that villain!

No…he would not be defeated, even if that masked fiend was dead! She was going to be his! He would possess her body, her soul, and especially the fortune that the Marquis Clamont was planning on leaving her. He would have that girl no matter what!

Raoul pushed his coachman out of the way as he climbed down the carriage himself. His butler, who had been standing ready by the door, quickly opened it upon noticing his master's temper. "Monsieur?"

"What?" he barked at the butler, wanting nothing more than a stiff glass of whisky to ease the ache in his head.

"T-t-there is a…well…a 'gentleman'…of sorts, to see you, in the library," the butler stammered slightly.

Raoul's brow furrowed at the information, but then clarity washed over him as he realized whom the servant was talking about. "Thank you," he grumbled, pushing past the butler and going straight into the library. He would have to make sure that nothing was missing before dismissing his unwanted guest.

"Ronaldi," Raoul muttered, seeing the tall graying gypsy examining one of Raoul's many elegant book shelves.

"Ah, monsieur," Ronaldi greeted, smiling and giving a slight bow to the nobleman. Raoul simply grunted and shut the door behind him. "I was admiring your fine collection," Ronaldi continued, as if nothing were amiss.

Raoul looked at the books on the shelf. "Can you read?"

Ronaldi chuckled. "Barely. But a man doesn't need to be a great reader to not know the great value of such books."

Raoul rolled his eyes, taking a mental note to inspect the shelf closely before the gypsy left. "What are you doing here?"

The old gypsy's smile faded at the hostility in the Vicomte's voice. "I've come to collect the other 5,000 you owe me."

Raoul said nothing, he simply walked over to a small table where a bottle of whisky lay and proceeded to pour himself a glass. The gypsy frowned at the lack of response. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Quite clearly," Raoul muttered, taking a large gulp from his glass. "And you said I could pay you the other 5,000 once the Phantom was killed."

"That's right," Ronaldi muttered, his impatience growing. "And that's what I did!"

Raoul took another drink. "We don't know that."

"WHAT?" Ronaldi was fuming. "What do you mean? Of course he is! No one could survive that! We had over thirty barrels of gunpowder! A cockroach wouldn't even survive such a–"

"You nearly destroyed my opera house!" Raoul retorted, his eyes flaring up with anger. "And that was NOT part of our deal!"

"Please," Ronaldi grumbled. "Last I saw it, it was still standing…and besides, you wanted us to take care of your 'problem' without leaving any evidence behind…and I think we did just that! So pay me my 5,000!"

It was no use arguing with the man. He was convinced that the job had been done right, but Raoul could not shake off that disturbing feeling, that everything had not gone according to plan…

And that was when Raoul saw the opportunity rise.

"Were you able to get those creatures?"

Ronaldi was still fuming. "Don't change the subject," he snapped. "I got my freaks, but I want my–"

"I'll pay you your 5,000…plus extra, if you do me a little favor…"

Ronaldi stared at the nobleman as if he had two heads. "You must be out of your mind! You expect me to do more favors for you before I receive my full payment? No, I'm finished making deals with you!"

"It will be worth your while…" Raoul attempted to reason.

"No deal! Pay me my 5,000!"

"I could pay you another 10,000!"

Ronaldi stared at the Vicomte in surprise, his mouth falling open at the handsome man's words. Even Raoul was shocked by what he said…but he quickly brushed the surprise away, needing to make this deal desperately. "There is a woman…she…she…" he couldn't finish the sentence. "The Phantom took her prisoner, and she grew…close…with those monsters. They mean much to her, in fact, it was only two days ago when she rescued one of them from the police."

Ronaldi wanted to pretend that he didn't care, but he found himself intrigued by the Vicomte's story. "I'm listening," he softly urged.

"This woman is an heiress…she is to receive the whole fortune of the Marquis Clamont upon the time of his death, which could be any day now. If I am able to marry her, I could give you another 10,000 on top of the 10,000 franks I'm already paying you."

"You've only paid me 5,000 franks so far."

Raoul rolled his eyes and bit his lip to keep from shouting at the stubborn gypsy.

Ronaldi ran his fingers through his long silver beard. "Does she hold feelings for you?"

Raoul tasted blood on the inside of his mouth. He realized then that Ronaldi's question had caused him to bite his cheek in anger. "She has feelings for those…those _things_ that you took," he carefully explained. "And with your help, we can convince her to…accept…my proposal."

Ronaldi could not help but grin at Raoul's words. "That is truly loathsome," he murmured. "I love it."

 

* * *

 

Christine awoke with a start, sitting up abruptly and looking at her surroundings wildly. She had just had the most horrible dream; there was a great fire at the opera house, and Erik and his friends were trapped, and she could not reach them…

It wasn't a dream, she realized with a heavy heart.

She remembered everything now; the ground shaking, the smoke billowing from the air vents, giant orange flames bursting from the trap doors, and Madame Giry, telling her that there was no hope.

Erik was dead. Rudolph and all the others were dead. Nothing could survive such an explosion…

Christine felt cold and hollow. She wrapped her arms around her body, her every muscle aching with grief. Her hands slowly fell to her belly, and new tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes.

Their son or daughter would never know his or her father.

Was it possible to die from a broken heart? Yes…for Christine felt as if she were dying inside.

"Christine?"

She turned her head to the doorway, seeing her father standing there, attempting to smile, but failing miserably. He said nothing else; he simply went to her side and wrapped his arms around her. Christine let out a sad but grateful sigh, and hugged him back just as fiercely. "Oh Papa," she moaned, burying her face against his shoulder as she wept.

Daae ran his old fingers through his daughter's hair, whispering soothing words into her ear, yet knowing they would do little to relieve her sorrow. "When your mother died, I…I thought it was the end of the world…" he began. "I didn't want to go on living…I didn't want to face another day without seeing her beautiful face, or hearing her lovely voice…" his arms held Christine even tighter as he could feel her trembling against him. "And I think…I would have let the sorrow eat me away, until there was nothing left…had it not been for you…"

Christine looked up at him, her brow slightly furrowed at his words. "Me?" she sniffled.

Daae smiled softly and nodded his head as his hand brushed a fallen curl away from her face. "I realized that I had my daughter to take care of, that you needed me, and if I gave in to my sorrow, you would be mourning two parents, not one," he sighed and kissed her forehead. "Christine…I'm not saying that the pain will ever go away, or that things will get easier. I still grieve for your mother after all this time…but I know that she would want me to continue living, for her…for you."

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but her father put his finger to her lips. "I know, my dear."

Christine's brow contorted even more. What did he mean? What did he know? And then it dawned on her…

"How…how long?" she whispered, unsure how he would react. Would he be disappointed? Upset? Angry?

Daae smiled softly. "After you had fainted on stage, I began to put the puzzle pieces together. You weren't eating very much, and yet you seemed to be ill much of the time. I remember your mother having similar dizzy spells and moments of sickness…and at first, I was worried; worried that perhaps the Phantom had…" he didn't finish his thoughts; no father ever wanted to finish such thoughts. "But when you told me how much you loved him, and how deeply he returned your love…I realized then that it hadn't been my worst fear."

Christine smiled faintly to her father's words. "I'm sorry, Papa–"

"Oh no, my dear!" Daae shook his head, holding her face in his hands. "You misunderstand, I am not upset, and I am not disappointed. I…I cannot condemn you, my child. When I met your mother, I…" he blushed slightly. "We were much younger, and our passion for one another could not be contained, at least not before our marriage. And I know that Erik had every intention of marrying you…" his words faded as he noticed the sorrow rise once more in his daughter's eyes. "What I am trying to say is…the pain you are feeling is great indeed, and it will be hard…but you must go on living, Christine. Think of Erik…and think of your child…"

Christine let out a long shaky breath as her hand fell once more to her stomach. It pained her to think that Erik would never see their child…but she knew her father was right. She wanted to die, but she couldn't, and she wouldn't. She needed to go on living for Erik, for their son or daughter. She would tell the child all about his or her father; how he was a great musician, how he ran an opera house, how he wrote a great opera…how she and him met. She would tell the child about Erik's past, about the friends he looked after, about the cruelty that humanity can inflict upon others, and yet how despite all that, the two of them had found love. Erik would live on her heart, always and forever, in her memory, and in their child.

"Thank you, Papa," she murmured, hugging him tightly.

Daae smiled and hugged his daughter back. They held each other for a long time, giving one another strength, before finally letting go, as the sounds from the orchestra sailed into the dressing room. Daae sighed with annoyance. "I can't believe they actually want to go on with this performance."

Christine was frowning too, but for different reasons. She rose from the chaise lounge and began walking towards the door. "Come," she said to her father. "There is something of great importance I wish to say."

Daae's eyes narrowed with confusion. "To whom?"

"Everyone." Without another word, she began walking towards the stage, her father following directly behind.

Firmin and Andre were sitting in the auditorium, looking absolutely miserable, while Piangi continued singing Don Juan's title song. Carlotta was having a fit because no one was letting her sing Aminta's songs, and the ballet that danced behind Don Juan, looked extremely tired. However, everyone fell silent, as Christine walked out onto the stage.

"Mademoiselle!" both managers cried at once.

Piangi looked horrified that his solo had been interrupted. Monsieur Gerard looked both thankful, and annoyed, that Christine had finally chosen to join the rehearsals. There were several other chorus members who were also sharing the conductor's sentiments, thankful she had interrupted the rehearsal, grumbling that she had some nerve to come in late. "I'm glad our little ingénue chose to join us," Carlotta scoffed with bitterness.

Christine ignored the woman and looked directly at the managers. Both Firmin and Andre were unsure exactly what to say. "Well…" Andre began. "Good to see that you are feeling better, mademoiselle."

"Indeed," Firmin added. "Now that you are here, we can truly rehearse. Monsieur Gerard, if you please–"

"No."

Everyone stared in wide-eyed confusion and shock at the words that had escaped Christine's mouth. Her voice had not been loud, but it had been extremely clear.

"No?" Andre, Firmin, and Gerard said together.

"That's right," Christine continued. "No…as in no, I will not rehearse."

Gerard groaned and threw his baton up into the air. Another prima donna in the making…

"What do you mean 'no'?" Firmin asked, his annoyance growing.

"In case you didn't realize, mademoiselle," Andre muttered, not hiding his own annoyance. "We have a performance tomorrow evening! And we need–"

"Why are you doing this?" Christine questioned, although she was asking the question to everyone, not just the managers. "Why are you performing this opera? None of you like it, I've heard you all complain about it. Why do it then?"

"The Phantom, of course!" Piangi defended, shaking his hand to the catwalks overhead. "He has ordered us to perform his opera, or–"

"You never paid attention to his instructions before!" Christine accused, her voice rising slightly. "You took some things to heart, but you never followed them to the line as you're doing now…why this opera? Why this performance? And why now, exactly? The Phantom is dead!"

Christine gasped as the words escaped her lips. Had she really said that? Did she believe it? "The Phantom is dead…" she repeated again, this time her words nothing more than mere whisper.

Firmin and Andre glanced at one another warily. "We…we don't know that, for sure," Andre retorted. "This could all be a ruse! A plan to trick us! Besides, why would he commit suicide–"

"He didn't commit suicide, he was murdered!" Christine shouted, causing the younger manager to tremble and stutter.

"That's a heavy accusation," Firmin murmured.

"And how could it be murder?" Carlotta grumbled. "No one cares about that villain anyway…you ask me, it was justice!"

Christine rounded on the woman, and the diva gave a shriek before shielding herself behind Piangi. She still remembered the day Christine had punched her right in the eye.

"I care!" Christine shouted. "And for too long I have been silent…but not anymore. I love him!" a gasp went out from around the stage, but Christine carried on, not letting her courage fade. "Why did the Phantom choose me, you ask? Where was I all these months? I was with him! He took me prisoner, but in exchange for my freedom, he taught me to sing…and he crafted my voice, helped me become great…and I am great!" she shouted, lifting her chin with pride. "Think what you will, but I am a good singer, and you know that," her eyes fell on Carlotta, who was attempting to look away. "And while I was there, locked away in his underground realm, a world that exists no more…I fell in love with him," another gasp went up from everyone, although now, some of the company looked sympathetic…and ashamed. "Those were the happiest months of my life…" Christine whispered, before her eyes fell once more on the managers. "He is not the monster you make him out to be! He is a genius! And you…you are nothing but a hoard of greedy, frightened, cowards!"

Firmin and Andre both began to cough in surprise at Christine's words. "Now…now see here!" Firmin shouted in defense. "That's going too far–"

"No, monsieur, it's the truth. You perform his opera, doing so in the name of fear, but what have you to fear now? He's dead! No…you carry on, because while you hate the music and you hate the composer…you will gladly take the money his genius has created!" she spat with bitterness.

The managers opened their mouths to reply, but found they had been robbed of their voices.

"Hypocrites," Christine muttered. "Cowardly hypocrites."

She turned then, and began walking towards Carlotta. The blonde soprano gave a high-pitched squeak, and pushed Piangi in front of her. "Stay away from me!"

"It's yours."

Carlotta stopped squeaking, and carefully looked over Piangi's shoulder. "W-w-what?"

Everyone held their breath, wondering what Christine was going to do. "I said, it's yours," Christine repeated. "The part, the role of Aminta…take it."

"WHAT?" gasped the managers, along with half of the chorus. Meg glanced at her mother, who was also looking shocked by Christine's offer. Yet no one looked as shocked as Carlotta herself.

"You…you w-want me to take the part of Aminta?" Carlotta asked slowly.

Christine nodded her head. "Yes. You've wanted it for so long, although I know that was more because you wanted to play the lead. You cared nothing for the character, or the story, or the music…all you care about is having the lead."

Her words stung, but that was the point. Carlotta knew deep in her bones that it was true. "What game are you playing at?" she asked, eyeing Christine suspiciously.

"No game," Christine confirmed. "I'm giving you the role of Aminta. I don't want it anymore." Her words were short and everyone could hear the emotion behind them, but Christine continued to hold her head high, her eyes focused on Carlotta's.

"Mademoiselle!" Andre gasped finally. "What are you doing?"

"It's been advertised in the papers that you will be playing the lead!" Firmin explained, his voice pleading. "You must play Aminta! You can _not_ do this!"

"I am," Christine murmured, looking around the stage at all the faces that were gazing at her with confusion, sadness, and shock. Her eyes lingered momentarily on Meg and Madame Giry, before turning to look at her father. He gave her a soft smile, one filled with understanding. "I quit."

"YOU QUIT?" they shouted together in disbelief.

"As do I," Daae murmured.

"WHAT?" Andre gasped, looking as if he were going to faint dead away.

"No! Daae, you can't do this to us! Not a second time!" Firmin cried.

Neither Christine nor her father said anything further. Hand in hand, they walked off the stage, and out the auditorium, leaving a stunned company, and two wailing managers, behind.

 

* * *

 

Rudolph groaned as pain ripped through his arms. He had been pushing at rocks and pulling at boulders for hours, trying to get to the Master who had been trapped in the cave-in from the explosion.

Carmen mewed behind him, leaping over the rocks Rudolph had removed and sniffing the air around her, as if trying to find a weak spot in the wall of stone that barricaded the hunchback from the Phantom.

"Master?" Rudolph cried. "H-h-hold on! I'm c-c-coming!" he grunted as he pulled more rocks away, watching carefully to make sure that he did not cause further damage to the already ravaged labyrinth.

Rudolph shuddered as the memories of what had occurred earlier once more replayed before his eyes. He and the tiny kitten had fled from the sight where Ronaldi and his men were dispensing the gunpowder. He went immediately to the Master's chambers, shocked at seeing that the Master was not there. Where had he gone? He went to Christine's old chambers, but found nothing their either. He began searching all the tunnels and hidden chambers, hoping to find some sign of the Master…and then, he smelled the smoke.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

It was a horrible smell, a smell mixed with hate and fear. Rudolph knew he had to get away from it, as far as possible. Gathering Carmen close, he hurried down the tunnels, away from the foul smoky stench, as fast as his legs could carry him.

And then he spotted the Master.

He was flying down an opposite tunnel, his black cape billowing behind him like a bat's silken wings, heading towards the smell, heading towards the danger.

Rudolph gave a cry of dismay and horror, and desperately tried to reach the Master before it was too late. He carefully crossed the divide between the two tunnels, calling out the Master's name, hoping he would hear his voice and at least pause, if not stop.

The Master was very fast, and Rudolph knew he would not be able to keep up. "Master!" he shouted. "MASTER!" Rudolph reached the other tunnel and began to hurry after Erik. He was panting, his side aching, his head swimming from the smoke that was now beginning to fill the tunnel, and his stomach churning with growing dread. Even Carmen was burrowing deeper inside his pocket, mewing out of fear. "MASTER!"

And then, the Master had stopped. He had just gone around a corner and paused. And Rudolph saw why.

A flame, extremely small, was chasing a trail of gunpowder. And the trail came to an end where a pile of barrels lay clumped together. The flame had reached its destination…

Rudolph said nothing, he simply acted. He grabbed the Master by the hem of his cape and hurled him with all his strength, back down the tunnel which they had been running. Rudolph, his large hands clutching his pocket protectively, dove under a large piece of rock, praying for safety, as behind him he heard a great blast.

Gustave had once talked about extraordinary miracles. He had read several stories from his bible, and explained that these miracles were acts of God, working through a person or through nature.

Rudolph knew that he should have been dead; he was far too close to where the explosion had occurred, and even the large rock that he had taken shelter under should have collapsed with all the weight that had fallen on it. But no…the rock, his shelter, remained steadfast, shielding his large body from the explosion and the stone that caved in all around him. Truly, he had witnessed a miracle.

And now, he only prayed that he could witness another miracle. After the dust settled, Rudolph emerged from his shelter and noticed the large wall of stone that had collapsed all around him, barricading himself from where he had flung the Master. He immediately went to work, hauling, pulling, and pushing stone away, coughing from the dust and smoke that still filled the ruined tunnel.

"Meow!"

Rudolph glanced up to see Carmen pawing at a particular rock. She was sniffing it with much interest, and Rudolph noticed that her tiny nose was examining a crack between the rocks. When she moved her dark furry head, a tiny splinter of dim light pierced through.

"Master!" Rudolph cried, immediately attempting to pull the boulder away. "M-master! I'm c-c-coming! H-h-hang on!" Carmen continued mewing, as if in encouragement. Rudolph grunted as he pulled at the boulder, sweat dripping down his brow, his fingers blistered and bleeding, every muscle in his body aching, but he continued his struggle, he continued pulling…

And then, with a great thud, the boulder, fell away, and along with it, so did other rocks, crumbling around it, the entire wall rolling away and giving him access into the tunnel. Snatching up Carmen, Rudolph placed the kitten once more inside his pocket and began to desperately search for the Master.

It was so dark.

Nothing was familiar anymore; the elaborate tunnels that stretched in the Phantom's underground labyrinth had been reduced to piles of rubble. The sliver of light that Rudolph had seen through the crack belonged to a small, dying flame, which glowed from what looked like a piece of fabric.

Rudolph's stomach tightened. "MASTER!" he cried, rushing towards the glow. The hunchback's suspicions had been correct; the fire had been eating away at Erik's cape. He quickly doused the flames, and bit his lip as he looked down at his Master, lying deathly still.

He lay on his side, his black mask somewhat askew, his clothes tattered and covered with dust, and there were several large, horrid looking cuts on his brow, lip, arms, and legs. "M-m-master?" Rudolph whispered, fear swelling in his chest. He looked lifeless…lying there. Was his chest even moving? "Master…please…p-p-please w-wake up…"

Rudolph felt the tears begin to fall, and his throat tightened as he touched the Master's hand, gasping at how cool it felt. It didn't look like he was breathing. The Master…he was–

Rudolph practically jumped from the great hollow gasp that escaped Erik's lips, his chest rising suddenly from the great gulp of air he was taking in. And then, he was coughing; coughing, sputtering, and vomiting.

"Master!" Rudolph cried with relief, quickly brushing his tears away. "Master y-y-you're a-alive!"

Erik groaned, pain filling his body. He had never felt worse. "Rudolph?" he whispered, his voice raspy. He could barely see the hunchback that was looming over him; his head ached so much. "What…w-w-what happened…?" he coughed, gasping for another gulp of air.

"T-t-there w-was t-this burst of f-fire…a-a-and then, the rocks started t-t-to fall! I grabbed you…and t-threw you d-down the tunnel," Rudolph carefully explained, biting his lip with worry, wondering if he had caused the Master further injury.

"Y-you s-saved my life, Rudolph," Erik murmured, offering a weak smile of gratitude; it hurt his mouth to move it.

"Y-you have s-s-saved us s-so many times," Rudolph murmured humbly, glad that he had been able to help his master.

Erik groaned as he attempted to sit up, and found that it was far too painful. "The air…" he mumbled, coughing once more. "It's…it's not right in here…w-w-we must get to f-fresh air…"

Rudolph bit his lip. He did not know how to exactly get to the world above from there, and knew especially that it wasn't safe. "The catacombs," Erik murmured, reading the hunchback's thoughts. "Take me to the catacombs, Rudolph…the air will be fresher there…" he coughed as he explained.

Rudolph nodded his head, and carefully, picked the Master up and hauled him over his shoulders, wincing as he heard Erik moan in agony from the pain that wracked his body. He too was coughing as he realized that the air was poisoned from the smoke. With a grunt, Rudolph carried Erik towards the dark catacombs, praying that the Master would stay awake to guide him through the long twisting tunnels. He would tell him about the others once he knew the Master was going to be all right. Right now, all that mattered was that the Master was alive.

 


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you think you've seen the worst of Raoul...

_**Villainy** _

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been quite some time since my last confession…"

A soft, elderly voice, responded through the screen to the woman who was confessing. "Speak my child, what are these sins that trouble you?"

The woman sighed, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "I have interfered with God's plan."

The priest's brow furrowed at the woman's words. "Interfered?"

"Yes," the woman went on. "While my faith in God is strong, my faith in humanity is lacking."

"Humanity is imperfect," the priest quietly explained. "It is easy to lack faith in others, even when we try not to. But God can give us strength…tell me, my child, is it this lack of faith in others that has caused you to believe you have interfered with God?"

"Yes," the woman replied, her voice filled with emotion. "I…I have…" she paused and felt a terrible shiver course through her body. "I mean, I…had…a friend, a man who I have known for many years, a man who lived his life locked away in shadow, a man who despised the light, a man who, despite his cold temper, was truly good to those who depended upon him, and I knew this…I had witnessed the good he had done…and yet, I doubted him."

The priest was troubled by the woman's words. "Please continue," he whispered.

The woman sighed, swallowing the lump in her throat. "There was a woman…she was young, pretty, and full of life…" she felt the tears slip down her cheeks. "She met this man…"

"And you feared for her?" the priest asked, beginning to understand the woman's troubles.

There was a long pause; the only sound the priest could hear was the woman's soft weeping. "Yes…" she sniffled, finally. "I did…I…I assumed the worst of him, forgetting the kindness he was capable of showing, and judging him no differently than others…and I was wrong, I was so wrong…"

The priest felt such pity as he listened to the woman cry. "How were you wrong, my child?"

The woman sniffled here and there, trying to control her tears. "He and this woman…they fell in love. He truly loved her with all his heart, and she loved him. But…but I drove them away, I forced them to be parted, thinking that what I was doing was for the best…and now…now he's no more."

The priest could not hold back his gasp from the woman's words. "He is dead?"

A soft wail escaped her lips, before finally murmuring a strangled, "yes." The priest sat in silence as the woman cried, wishing with all his heart that he could ease her pain. After several deep breaths, the woman finally began to speak again. "He is dead…and she is dying with grief," the woman whispered. "She is also leaving, traveling far away from this place, and I blame myself for all of this…had I not interfered, had I attempted to understand–"

"My child," the priest quietly interrupted. "You were not interfering; you were acting as many frightened parents act, seeing what was in front of them, seeing what they fear. Pray to God for this man who has left this world, pray for his soul, and pray for the woman who grieves him. God will give you strength, and God will give her strength as well. But my child, the forgiveness you seek does not come from God here…"

"No," the woman whispered. "I suppose you're right. I just…did he know? Does he know how sorry I am? How if I could take it all back–"

"Pray for him, my child," the priest murmured, soothingly. "Pray to the Blessed Virgin to shelter him and tell him of your grief, your sorrow, and your love."

The woman nodded her head and slowly rose from the confessional. "Thank you, Father."

The priest whispered a blessing, before murmuring, "Go in peace."

Slowly, Madame Giry exited the confessional, and with her head bowed low, knelt before an icon of Mary, and prayed that wherever Erik was, he could hear her.

 

* * *

 

"Christine…"

Rudolph's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the Master's voice. The Master was very strong, and had been a bit of a challenge for Rudolph to carry, but he had managed to bring him to the catacombs, just as the Master had suggested. Upon arriving there, both of them began to breathe more easily, the air fresher and cleaner, despite the endless tunnels of bones that surrounded them. Rudolph had gotten right to work, tearing pieces of cloth to help stop the bleeding for several of the Master's wounds. He was extremely grateful for all that Suzette had taught him. After binding the wounds, Rudolph fetched them both some water, and looked for any other supplies that may be helpful.

Erik could barely stay awake. He had so many questions, but his body was so weak from the explosion. He was grateful to Rudolph, but yearned to know what had become of the others. Where were they? Had they made it to safety? Were they trapped somewhere? He yearned to rise up and go in search for them, to stand on his own two feet, but sitting up on his own proved difficult; he hated to think how it would be to stand.

One of his legs pained him greatly, and Erik cursed whenever he or Rudolph tried to move it. He needed help, this much he knew…if only he weren't so tired…

Both Erik and Rudolph were completely exhausted from the ordeal. Rudolph never meant to fall asleep, he had planned on staying awake and making sure the Master would be alright, but sleep overcame him, just as it took the Master. How long he had slept, he did not know, but Rudolph awoke when he began to hear the Master call out for Christine.

"Master?" he whispered, coming to Erik's side. "Master, is t-t-there something y-you need?"

"Christine…" Erik murmured weakly.

Rudolph bit his lip. If he could bring Christine to him, he would. He remembered how well she had helped the Master when he had been injured by the gunshot. But he did know how to get to the place where she stayed, or how to get word to her.

"I'm s-s-sorry Master…I…I d-don't know how to g-g-get Christine," Rudolph murmured sadly.

Erik's eyes drifted open then, realizing that Rudolph was talking to him. His sleep had been littered with fevered dreams; nightmares where the Vicomte attacked Christine and he was unable to help her. He glanced up at Rudolph, who was leaning over him and looking concerned. The hunchback had been a great help, but he needed more, both of them did.

"Master?" Rudolph asked again. "I said I'm s-s-sorry…b-but I don't know h-h-how to g-g-get Christine."

Erik slowly nodded his head with understanding. "Madame Giry," he coughed. "Get Madame Giry…she will know what to do…"

"Madame Giry?" Rudolph thought for a second and remembered that she lived in the house with the stable that had the very nice horses. Of course she would be able to help! "I will g-g-go a-and b-bring her to you!" Rudolph promised, rising to his feet.

"Take the catacombs," Erik whispered. "They will be the quickest way."

Rudolph's confident smile quickly vanished. "But the catacombs a-a-are d-d-dark! Darker t-t-than all the other t-tunnels…a-and I don't know t-t-them very well–"

"Rudolph," Erik interrupted, his eyes focusing on the hunchback. "You can do this…I know you can. I showed all of you the way down the tunnel once…do you remember?"

Rudolph slowly nodded his head, although he never thought he would ever have to use it. "I d-do," he whispered, trying to sound brave, but failing.

"Take the tunnel…count to 40, then turn to your right…count to 80, then turn to your left. Count to 20 and then turn left again…count to 70, and then turn right. You'll be near the entrance at that point. Just go another 20 paces and you'll come to some stairs. There are 14 of them. Go up the stairs and you will find yourself inside a mausoleum. There is an old rusted key that hides on a stone ledge above the gate. Use it to unlock the gate, and be sure to lock the gate once you've left. Take the key with you, and find Madame Giry."

Rudolph slowly nodded his head, not liking the idea very much, but knowing that the Master was depending on him. "I w-will be q-q-quick," he promised. "I w-will find her a-a-and bring her back."

"I know you will," Erik whispered, leaning back against the wall of stone, and feeling his eyes grow heavy once more. "I know you can do this."

Rudolph nodded his head and took a deep breath. Carmen mewed from inside his pocket, and Rudolph smiled down at the kitten. At least he would not be taking this darkened journey alone.

He glanced at the Master one last time, before entering the darkness of the old Parisian catacombs.

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe it…and yet…it doesn't surprise me."

Christine glanced up at the pretty dancer who sat across from her in Madame Giry's parlor. It was early morning, the day after Christine had announced that she was quitting the Paris Opera House. Had she still been a member of the company, today would be her opening night, the day she would take her first step out on stage as an opera singer before all of Paris. But that day would never come for her, and it was her choice.

After Christine and her father had left, both Madame Giry and Meg had rushed home, bursting into the house, talking at the same time, their eyes wide, their faces pale, and looking shocked beyond all belief. Together, both Christine and her father stood facing them, calmly explaining their decisions, how they felt this was truly better for them both, and that was the end of it.

Madame Giry looked horrified, and had to excuse herself from the parlor before bursting into tears. Meg was still stunned by Christine's news that she and the Phantom were lovers. It made perfect sense, of course, looking back on everything. Christine's hysterical behavior after the explosion, her desperateness to get below the opera house, even the way she defended the Phantom's name in front of the Vicomte! It all made sense, and yet Meg had never once suspected.

Little sleep was had that night.

Both Christine and her father seemed unsure what to do next. Madame Giry could not stop crying and worrying, and Meg had just too many questions. Finally, before the dawn's light rose, the four of them gathered together once more in Madame Giry's parlor. Daae had been talking with Christine late into the night, and the two decided that the best thing for them both was to travel back to Daae's homeland of Sweden, and start a new life there. Madame Giry's tears flowed even more, and she excused herself again, saying she needed to go somewhere urgently, and left the house. Daae also excused himself, believing it best to go and arrange the tickets that they would need for their journey. Meg and Christine were left alone in the parlor, sipping tea and watching the dawn's gray light illuminate the streets of Paris from the parlor window.

"All those months…" Meg murmured. "All those months you had been missing, you were only just below."

Christine nodded her head and took a sip from her teacup. She was unsure how Meg would react after learning the truth about her and the Phantom, but she realized that she should have known better; Meg was truly the only person in the whole company that had not judged Christine. And still, even after everything she had learned, Meg's kindness and sweet understanding remained steadfast.

"It's amazing," Meg murmured again. "Just…I have never seen the Phantom myself, but I believed the stories. And he was always portrayed as this masked villainous monster…"

"I know," Christine whispered. "And I thought the same when I first met him. I will not lie, he was not always kind; he had a fierce temper and his words could be most cruel…but something changed. Or perhaps, I changed, and saw the good in him. But the Phantom I knew then is practically forgotten; Erik…the Phantom I know now…he is the man I love…the man I will always love."

Meg smiled at her friend's words, but felt the same pangs of sadness for her loss. "And the ring…the ring that Carlotta saw you wearing and had assumed was from the Vicomte? That was from the Phan–I mean, from Erik?"

Christine simply nodded her head, her hands reaching up to brush her tears away. She felt so cold, so hollow since yesterday. She also felt so much older, as if Erik's death had aged her twenty years. Her heart, and her innocence died in that explosion, along with the man she loved. She had become a widow, before becoming a bride.

Meg reached out and took Christine's hand in her own. Christine squeezed the dancer's hand, grateful for the comfort. "You don't have to go, Christine," Meg whispered, looking into her friends' eyes. "You don't have to do this."

Christine sadly shook her head. "No Meg, I can't stay here…Papa is right. There is nothing for us here anymore. Nothing for us in Paris, and nothing for us back in the country. He has a sister in Sweden who he has corresponded with through the years, and after the death of my mother, wrote to us, telling us that we could come and stay with her if need be."

"Yes, but it's so far away!" Meg sighed unhappily. "I'm going to miss you."

Christine looked up at the girl who sat across from her and reached out to hug her tightly. "Oh Meg, I'm going to miss you too, so very much. Both you and your mother are going to be my only regrets when leaving Paris."

Meg put her hands on Christine's shoulders and looked deeply into the brunette's eyes. "Your only regret? Christine…think about what you're giving up! I understand your feelings, and I respect them, but…giving the part to Carlotta? Christine, that's Erik's opera…don't you want to sing the part that he wrote for you?"

Christine felt her heart swell with sorrow and shame at Meg's words. She knew that Erik would be disappointed in her decision, but the truth of the matter was, she could not stand to be a part of something that cared so little for the genius that composed the great work they would be performing. It was all a lie, a mask in a sense, hiding the ugly resentment by taking the money.

"Meg…a part of me wants to sing that part more than anything. But…" she looked away as the tears began to fall. "Ever since I came back, ever since I stepped foot on stage at rehearsals, I have always felt his presence. As if he were watching over me, guiding me through the music." She smiled at this thought, but it quickly faded. "Yesterday, when I stepped out on that stage, after everything that had happened…something didn't feel right. Something felt cold, harsh, and different. And then I realized…I couldn't feel him anymore. It was as if his very presence was taken away in that horrible explosion…" Christine couldn't hold back anymore, the tears began flowing and she covered her mouth with her hand to control her sobs.

Meg quickly hugged her friend tightly as Christine released herself to her sorrow. For a long time, the two of them sat like that, hugging one another and crying together until their eyes stung from all the tears that had been shed. Christine finally lifted her head and wiped her eyes. "I can't do it Meg…" she murmured sadly. "I…I know you're right, I know that I should sing…but I can't do it. I can't go out there, feeling that emptiness, the lack of his presence. I'm sorry…"

"Oh Christine, no," Meg shushed, shaking her head. "You don't need to apologize, and I'm sorry for making you feel pressured to sing. I can't imagine how difficult it would be to sing something someone you loved created for you…and then know that…well, that they won't be seeing it." She paused, her hands gripping Christine's. "I wish I could quit too."

Christine's head jerked up at Meg's words. "Oh no Meg, you mustn't wish that. There are so many wonderful dance scenes in the opera, and several solos for you. You must go on and perform them so that all of Paris can see the star that you are!"

"But Christine, you are a star too!" Meg argued.

"No," Christine shook her head. "No Meg, I'm nobody. At least in the world of opera, I'm nobody. But you have been dancing since you could walk–you deserve this moment to shine."

Meg wanted to argue further, but at that moment, the door opened and Daae emerged. "I have our tickets," he announced. "We shall be leaving tonight, on the six o'clock train to the coast. Tomorrow, a ship shall take us to Sweden."

Both women gasped. "So soon?" Christine realized it was she who had said those words. She felt it best that both she and her father leave Paris, but she had not fully comprehended how quickly they would be going…or how much she would miss the city.

"It was the only train that still had seats," her father explained. "There was nothing else available until next week."

Christine nodded her head with understanding, but she felt sadness wash over her. She touched her stomach and thought of the baby, thought of the city where her child had been conceived, and how perhaps one day, after the child was born, she would bring her son or daughter back to show them Paris.

"You must come and visit, both of you," Meg insisted, forcing a smile, although it was quite strained.

"We shall," Daae promised, leaning down and taking Christine's hands in his. Christine quickly smiled up at her father, and tried to smile at Meg's words, yet hers was strained as well.

"Well," Meg murmured. "I had best be getting to the opera house. Monsieur Firmin announced that we need to have one more rehearsal this morning, due to yesterday's…" her voice trailed off, and she quickly looked away from both Christine and her father.

"Good luck," Christine whispered, rising from her chair to give Meg a hug. It felt very much like a sad farewell. "I shall write as soon as we reach Sweden."

Meg nodded her head, fighting back her own tears, before quickly turning to leave the house. Daae rested a hand on his daughter's shoulder, offering as much comfort as he could. "We shall visit again soon, I promise."

Christine said nothing, she simply reached up to give her father's hand a squeeze, before turning to go and help with packing their things.

 

* * *

 

Madame Giry exited the small church with a heavy sigh. Clouds were brewing overhead; _fitting_ , she thought. The sun's beautiful golden rays were quickly disappearing, as thunder could be heard in the distance. _Yes, quite fitting; this is not a day for sunshine and warmth._

She knew she was late. She should be at the opera house, helping the girls prepare for the evening's opera, but it was a task that she was not looking forward to.

How could she go there, knowing that Erik was dead and Christine was leaving? How could she enjoy watching her daughter dance, knowing that the genius that had designed and choreographed Meg's solos was no longer present? How could she stand by, cold with grief, and watch the managers greedily boast about ticket sales? If Meg and the other girls did not need her support, she would quit herself.

A creaking sound to her right caused the ballet mistress to rapidly turn her head. She stood in the cold churchyard, surrounded by ancient gravestones, her eyes falling on a lonely, cracked mausoleum. She could have sworn she had heard the sound come from there! She took a tentative step towards the mausoleum, and froze as she heard a soft grunt escape its darkened confines.

Were the dead rising from their graves?

She took another step towards the mausoleum, and gasped as she saw the iron gate of enlarged tomb, creak open.

The sight that greeted her after that was never more beautiful.

"R-r-r-rudolph?" she choked, as the hunchback and slowly, and carefully, emerged from his hiding place.

Rudolph froze at the sound of his name, however he recognized the voice and turned quickly, gasping at the sight of the woman he had come above to fetch. He opened his mouth to greet her, but was stunned speechless when the ballet mistress gave a shriek of joy, before rushing forward and throwing her arms around him.

"You're alive!" Madame Giry happily cried. "Oh thank the Lord above, you're alive!"

Rudolph was still stunned by Madame Giry's burst of emotion. The few times he had conversed with the ballet mistress, she always gave off an air of cold aloofness. Now, she was crying against his chest and hugging him as tightly as her two thin arms could.

However, it wasn't just Madame Giry's emotional outburst that had him frozen in his place. He still couldn't believe that he had managed to find his way out of the catacombs. He had almost burst into tears with worry, thinking that he had gotten himself lost, until Carmen's sweet meow brought his attention to the tunnel that led to the mausoleum's steps. Now he just needed to find Madame Giry; and before he had even shut the tomb's gate, there she was! The very person he needed, standing right there as if she had heard the Master's prayer.

Madame Giry finally got control of her emotions, and quickly took the hunchback's arm, bringing him more securely into the shadows of the mausoleum. She was so happy that he had made it, that he was indeed alive, which could also mean that the others were alive as well! But she needed to let him speak first and learn everything that she could about the situation. "Rudolph, how did you get out of there?" she asked in a hushed voice.

The hunchback smiled with pride. "T-t-the Master t-told me about the c-c-catacombs, a-a-and h-helped me find the way outside," he explained.

Madame Giry froze at the mention of Erik. Was it possible? Could he still be alive?

"Rudolph…you must tell me everything," she whispered, carefully and calmly, despite the anxiousness she was feeling inside.

The hunchback nodded his head, but pushed the gate of the mausoleum open. "I p-promise to t-t-t-tell you everything o-on the way…b-b-but we must g-go, the Master needs y-your h-help."

She couldn't contain her questions any longer. "Erik is alive?"

Rudolph smiled and began to nod his head, but then his smile quickly faded. "H-he is badly h-hurt…a-and told me to come a-and get you," he explained.

Madame Giry could not believe it. Erik was alive…he was alive! But Rudolph's words were slowly sinking in; he was alive… _now_ , but he was in need of help, and if she did not go to him quickly…

"Lead the way," she murmured, picking up her skirts and entering the mausoleum.

Rudolph grinned and nodded his head, feeling his hope rising. Everything was going to be all right; Madame Giry would help them as she always had before.

As Rudolph bravely led the way back into the dark catacombs, Madame Giry found herself thanking God for answering her prayer, but also praying that by the time she reached Erik, she was not too late.

 

* * *

 

"Where is she!"

Meg groaned and once more, attempted to calm the angry manager down. "She will be here shortly, Monsieur Andre, she simply wanted to go to church this morning before coming to the opera house."

"Church!" Andre practically spat. "On a Friday?"

Meg took a deep breath so as not to lose her temper at the odious man. "She wanted to go to confession," she simply explained. "After yesterday's tragedy, it should not be surprising that everyone is a little…shaken."

Andre looked down at the pretty dancer, his face twisting with disgust; how dare she, a mere child, lecture him! He opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden grip on his shoulder caused the younger manager to whirl around.

"Is there a problem, monsieur?" Raoul casually asked.

Andre's eyes widened and quickly shook his head. "No monsieur, not at all! Simply, I was asking Mademoiselle Giry here, if she knew where her mother was. Madame Giry is late for rehearsals," he explained, hoping to not upset the Vicomte, while also wanting to tattle on the ballet mistress.

Raoul had been reluctant to come to the opera house that morning. Partly, because he got little sleep the night before, due to worries involving his loss of finances, and his plans involving Christine. Even if the Phantom were dead, it still did not help the matter of his debts. Due to the scandals and lack of ticket sales prior to _Don Juan_ , on top of his gambling debts, and the money he owed to both LeDue and Ronaldi, Raoul needed the Marquis Clamont's fortune more than ever, which meant he needed Christine as his wife, now, more than ever.

Which was the cause for his other reason to being reluctant for coming to the opera house that morning. Christine's words to him the night before, on top of everything else she had revealed, were still whirling about in his head. She called him a monster; she confessed to rutting with that beast; she defended that creature even as she was being dragged away! The second he had her alone, after they were married, he would teach her a lesson, a lesson he was looking quite forward to inflicting.

Raoul ignored any other words that were leaving Andre's mouth, and found himself smiling with interest at Meg. She was quite pretty…and she did seem to have blossomed overnight, since last he had paid any heed to her. Perhaps he could persuade Meg to cure the ache in his loins that Christine had caused?

"I'm sure she will be here shortly," he murmured to the manager, offering a charming smile in Meg's direction.

Once upon a time, Meg would have found herself giggling and smiling back, but now, she only wrapped her arms around her body and immediately began to back away from Raoul's handsome gaze. "Good day to you," she whispered, before quickly turning and rushing back to where the other ballet girls stood.

Raoul frowned, cursing Madame Giry for influencing the girl. He turned away then and pushed past Andre, practically causing the younger manager to fall backward. "Tonight's a big night," he muttered. "Is everything understood about what is to happen?"

"Oh yes!" Andre answered, quickly recovering from his near loss of balance. He followed Raoul into the auditorium, and now stood beside Monsieur Firmin, who was gazing up at the stage while Piangi sang one of his many songs. "The police will be here promptly at six, before any patrons arrive, and they shall be stationed at every entrance, and backstage–"

"What's this?" Raoul asked, his voice filled with both surprise and disgust.

Andre turned to look up at the stage to see Carlotta, strutting across, singing "Think of Me", far too dramatically. "Carlotta is Mademoiselle Daae's understudy, so she is–"

"I know she is Christine's understudy," Raoul growled, his temper beginning to kindle. "But what is she doing on stage? This is pointless! It is a waste of valuable time, having the understudies rehearse when they will not be performing!"

Andre glanced at Firmin, who was now beginning to turn pale with realization. "You haven't told him?" the older manager practically hissed.

"He just arrived! Besides, you should be the one to tell him!" Andre hissed back.

Raoul's eyes narrowed at the two managers. "Tell me what?" he growled.

Both men looked up at the Vicomte, swallowing the nervous lumps in their throats, feeling their palms grow sweaty. "Well…monsieur, a-after you left…" Firmin began, his courage quickly leaving along with his voice.

"T-things were quite tense," Andre offered, trying to help, but also feeling his own courage drift away.

"If one of you does not explain in the next few seconds," he growled, dragging the two men out of the auditorium and into the foyer where they would cause less of scene, "you will both be wishing that you had never even heard of the opera business!" Raoul threatened, his eyes flashing with irritation.

Funnily enough, the two men were already wishing that.

The managers glanced at each other, took a deep breath, and together, said, "Mademoiselle Daae quit."

There was a long pause, as if time itself had come to a stand still.

And then…

"WHAT?"

Before the two managers could say or do anything, Raoul had grabbed them both by the collars of their suits, and had practically bashed the two of them together. "WHY DIDN'T DID YOU TELL ME THIS YESTERDAY?"

"W-w-we did not wish to worry you f-further!" Andre quickly explained, in a pathetic blubbering voice.

"W-w-we thought l-letting Carlotta play the lead–" Firmin attempted to reason, but was quickly shaken, violently, for doing so.

"DO YOU TWO IDIOTS UNDERSTAND ANYTHING?" Raoul shouted, pushing them away from him, causing them both to stumble backwards. "WE NEED CHRISTINE! SHE'S THE BAIT! IF THAT BLASTED PHANTOM IS STILL ALIVE, HE WILL COME TONIGHT BECAUSE OF HER!" he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, if at least to calm his voice. "She…" he began, his tone slightly softer, but still quite threatening, "…is the key to our plans. She is the thing that will lure him into our trap. Also, she's the one that the FUCKING PUBLIC IS PAYING TO SEE!" he roared again.

Both men shrunk at the Vicomte's tone, lifting their arms up as if to shield themselves.

"Do you WANT to live through more scandals? Do you WANT this place to remain haunted by that madman? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?"

"NO!" both men pathetically shouted in unison.

Raoul cursed under his breath, before smoothing his jacket and running his hands through his blonde hair. It looked as if his plot would have to begin earlier than he had planned. "Get Carlotta off stage," he growled. "And have everything ready tonight for Mademoiselle Daae."

Firmin knew he was playing with fire by asking this question, but it needed to be asked. "A-a-are you g-going to bring her back?"

Raoul wanted to shout, but instead he clenched his teeth and nodded his head. "She will perform, I promise you that," he muttered, before turning on his heel and exiting the opera house. "And I know just how to persuade her…"

 

* * *

 

Daae watched as his daughter gently placed their meager belongings in the two carpetbags they possessed. She had insisted on doing the task by herself, telling him that he had already done his part by rising early to purchase their tickets. Daae finally gave in, yet it pained him so to see his daughter's face, pale and hopeless, the life that once sparkled in her eyes gone…

Sweden was their only choice. There was nothing for them in France; no farm to tend, and now after making the dramatic move to quit the opera house, they truly had no other options. Daae knew his sister would welcome them with open arms, but still, he despised having to rely on others when for so many years, he had provided for his family.

And while he knew it was not his fault, he blamed himself for the sorrow his daughter was feeling.

Christine had found love; a man who once upon a time had seemed like a horrible monstrous beast…but in the end, had learned to love, had adored his daughter, and who wanted to marry her. And the two of them, like so many couples, lost themselves in their passions, and now Christine was with child…and the man who would have married her and helped her raise that child was no more.

He knew it wasn't his fault, but Daae blamed himself entirely for not somehow being a better help for his daughter.

"When will our boat be leaving?"

Daae glanced up at his daughter, realizing she was asking him a question. "Tomorrow morning," he murmured. "Around eight."

Christine nodded her head. "And our train that will take us to the coast leaves at six," she confirmed.

Daae nodded his head to her question. "I was informed that there will be several inns in the area that will provide us with both a hot meal, and a warm bed for the night."

Christine tried to smile, but found it difficult. The hours had been ticking by far faster than she had liked. She could not believe it was the afternoon already! Prior to packing their things, Christine had insisted on helping Isabel, Madame Giry's housekeeper, with several of the household chores, as repayment for the ballet mistress' kindness. Several times during her work, Christine had thought that perhaps instead of traveling to Sweden, she could find work in the city as a seamstress; after all, she was rather handy with needle and pin. If not that, then at least as a maid, she was not a stranger to hard work. But she knew her father wouldn't stand for it, if he could help it, and she personally was not sure how she could handle staying in Paris after everything. And yet, she also was not sure how she could handle leaving it as well. All that mattered now was helping her father, and looking after her baby.

"My dear," Daae murmured, interrupting her thoughts. "Let me finish, you have done more than enough today."

"I'm fine, Papa," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes, as she folded a dress into her bag.

Daae sighed and rose from his chair, gently placing his old hands on his daughter's shoulders. They were trembling with the resolve not to cry.

"Christine, let me finish this, and why don't you go visit Meg?"

Christine froze at his words and she turned to face him. "What?"

"Go to the opera house," he gently explained. "Say goodbye to Meg and the others, it will do you some good."

"But Papa–"

"Christine," he whispered, pushing a fallen curl away from her brow. "I know from experience; you will regret it if you do not do this. Go say your goodbyes…"

He did not say it, but Christine knew what he meant. Yes, he was telling her to go and say her final goodbyes to Meg and others of the company…but he was also telling her to say goodbye to the opera house itself…and to its ghost.

Daae smiled as he noticed her hesitation melt away. "Go on, I will finish this and wait for you."

Christine nodded her head, a soft smile spreading across her face. "I shall be back before five."

"Take as long as you need," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close.

Christine hugged her father back just as tightly, murmuring her thanks, before turning and leaving the town house to pay her last respects to the magnificent Paris Opera House…and the memory of the man who had called it his home for the last twenty years.

 

* * *

 

"Master!" Rudolph cried, as he and Madame Giry finally came to the end of their tunnel. "M-m-master! I f-f-found her! I h-have her!"

Madame Giry gasped at the sight of the destruction that lay around them. She had seen little when she had taken the passage from the chapel, and yet she had not imagined how horrible the damage was. It was amazing that either Rudolph or Erik had survived this disaster.

Much to Rudolph's surprise, Erik was awake, and had been ever since he had heard their footsteps far down the dark tunnel. "Master!" Rudolph grinned proudly and happily at seeing him conscious. "H-h-here s-she is!" he happily stuttered, taking Madame Giry's arm and gently pulling her towards Erik.

"Erik!" she gasped with relief at seeing him, although her relief was quickly squashed at the sight of the dried blood that caked his shirt and skin. "Oh God, Erik…"

"Don't faint on me," he grunted with discomfort, as he attempted to sit up. "You're the most level-headed person I know, and if you lose your senses, I don't know what I'll do."

At least the explosion hadn't knocked away his dry humor. Madame Giry knelt down beside her friend and carefully began to examine the blood on his shirt. "Where do you feel the most pain?" she asked, taking note of the cuts on his chest.

"My leg," Erik groaned, wincing with pain as he moved it. "The left one."

Madame Giry leaned down to examine his leg, while Rudolph hovered near by. "Is t-t-there a-a-anything I c-can do?" he softly asked.

Erik looked up at Rudolph and felt his chest swell with pride. "You have done more than enough, my friend," he murmured most sincerely. "Thank you."

Rudolph grinned, but knew now was not the time to be feeling proud; he needed to help the Master so they could save the others. "I f-f-found s-some of Suzette's m-medicines," he explained to Madame Giry, reaching over to show her the small bag that the little woman had kept whenever they were injured. "I g-gathered it a-after b-bringing the Master here."

Madame Giry smiled up at the hunchback. "You're quite resourceful, Rudolph," she complimented. "And a good thing too, we need to put some of those herbs she uses on these cuts, as well as some clean bandages. And we'll need some wood…two thin slabs to make a splint."

"A splint?" Erik asked.

Madame Giry nodded. "It's not as bad as I feared; your leg isn't broken, but the ankle is sprained. A splint will help give your ankle the support it will need to heal. Rudolph? Can you go and fetch me some clean strips of cloth, as well as two lean wooden slabs?"

"No," Erik interrupted before the hunchback could answer.

Madame Giry lifted an eyebrow at his words. "Erik, you need this splint if you want to be able to stand on your own, let alone walk–"

"Forget about me!" he growled. "I am fine, I will be alright, just help the others."

Madame Giry leaned away. "The others?" she asked, slowly realizing that he did not know what Rudolph had told her.

"Yes, they are trapped somewhere, most likely in their chamber. Rudolph, go and help them, I'm sure they are–"

"They're not here," Madame Giry calmly explained.

Erik stared at the woman before him, confused and irritated that nothing was being done. "What are you talking about? I told you, they're trapped on the other side–"

"T-t-the g-g-gypsies took t-them," Rudolph interrupted, his voice filled with sadness and fear.

Erik's eyes widened with shock and disbelief. "W-w-what?"

"Ronaldi," Madame Giry whispered. "The same man that kept you imprisoned all those years…he has them."

Silence fell over the tunnel as the shock from Madame Giry's words settled over Erik. And then, suddenly, with a mighty roar of anger, Erik gripped the slab of stone he had been leaning against, and forced himself up onto his feet.

"Erik!" Madame Giry gasped as he attempted to walk on his own. "What are you doing?"

"What…does…it…look…like?" he growled through clenched teeth, groaning at the pain that was shooting through his body with each step.

His leg was not broken, but a sprained ankle still made it difficult for an ordinary man to walk on. But Erik was no ordinary man, the ballet mistress had to remind herself. He could be the most unbelievably stubborn person on the planet…and that was probably the only thing that kept him living this long.

"Erik, you are in no condition–"

"IT'S RONALDI!" he shouted. "That…that…that BASTARD kept me in a cage! He tortured me, as well as the others! And I PROMISED them I would NEVER allow this to ever happen to them AGAIN!" he turned and slammed his fist, hard, into the wall behind him, leaving a dent in the stone. "I promised them," he whispered this time, ignoring the pain that pierced his ankle, as well as his bloody knuckles. "I promised them this would never happen again…"

Madame Giry felt Erik's pain, knowing how it felt to believe one had failed another. "We will save them, I promise," Madame Giry murmured, slowly coaxing Erik to sit back down. "But you are in no condition to go and fight them, at least not yet," she argued, hoping Erik would see reason.

With a groan of defeat, Erik sat down once more, and Madame Giry sent Rudolph to fetch her the supplies she needed. She opened Suzette's small medical bag, and began to go through her tiny collection of healing herbs. "You need a doctor," Madame Giry sighed, as she took a small brush from the bag and dipped it into one of the herb jars.

"I need to get my hands around Ronaldi's neck," Erik growled, wincing at the sting of the herbs on his open cuts.

"All in good time," the ballet mistress grumbled as she applied the herbal paste to his cuts, before bandaging them.

"How did he find this place?" Erik asked hypothetically. "How did he get in?"

"Rudolph said he saw them enter through the sewer entrance above their chamber," Madame Giry informed.

"The sewer entrance?" Erik thought about the passage that led down the sewer into the chamber his friends occupied. It was the most unguarded of the chamber entrances, but that was for the simple reason that Erik thought no one in their right mind would willingly walk through raw sewage to get to them. And even then, there was the boulder that covered the tunnel entrance into the chamber…

"He didn't just stumble upon that tunnel," Erik growled. "Someone told him. Someone found out and passed the information on…" A low snarl escaped his throat. "The Vicomte."

Madame Giry suspected the Vicomte as well, but it still made little sense. "How did the Vicomte de Chagny discover this place? He hates you, yes, but he's the last person who would walk through raw sewage to learn of your whereabouts."

At that moment, Rudolph reappeared with several strips of cloth and two wooden slabs, just as Madame Giry had requested. Erik looked up at his friend and realized how the trap had been set. "They followed Rudolph and Christine," he whispered. "The night she brought him back, the Vicomte must have had someone follow them…for she told me Rudolph got them inside through the sewer."

Rudolph had only just arrived, but already he was paling at his Master's words. "Does…does t-t-that mean it's m-m-my f-fault?"

"No," Madame Giry quickly intervened, taking the two wooden slabs and binding them to Erik's leg. "If anyone is to blame it is the Vicomte, if he is behind all this."

Erik grunted in pain as she tightened the splint. "He is, I know it."

Madame Giry shook her head. She suspected Raoul of being behind this, but it made no sense! Just as she believed Raoul would never walk through a sewer, she could not believe he would go out of his way to associate with gypsies. "How did the Vicomte come to know Ronaldi? Why would he want to know the man?"

"I don't know," Erik sighed with frustration. "But you can not tell me that this is all coincidence! That my greatest enemy who is more than determined to see me dead, and who covets Christine, had nothing to do with the man who kept me a prisoner in his freak show, finding my home and invading it to take the others?"

Madame Giry sighed, knowing that while it made no sense, she could not see it as pure coincidence either. And then she gasped with realization. "Erik, there is something else you need to know. Christine–"

Erik paled at the woman's words. "Good God, is she alright? He didn't lay another hand on her, did he?" he would skin the Vicomte alive if he had tried to force himself on Christine again. Erik had every intention of the killing the man, but now it all came down to how much torture he would inflict.

"She is fine," the ballet mistress quickly intervened. "But…she thinks you're dead!"

Erik's brow furrowed at the woman's words. "Dead?"

"Yes, the explosion, we all felt it…and few people believe that you are still alive, I even thought you were dead!" Madame Giry confessed. "And Christine…she…she quit the opera–"

"What?" Erik gasped, groaning as he moved his leg too quickly. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"The managers insist that the opera go on," Madame Giry explained. "They have too much money invested, but Christine accused their hypocrisy, and thinking you were dead…quit the opera."

Had this been any other circumstance, Erik would be raging at the thought of someone other than Christine singing in his opera. But the opera was the last thing he needed to worry about.

"There's more," Madame Giry murmured. "She and her father are leaving Paris, tonight."

"WHAT?" Erik roared. "WHERE?"

"Sweden," Madame Giry quickly answered. "Her father has family there. Erik, please understand, Christine believed she had nothing left here–"

"It's alright," he muttered, attempting to stand with his new splint. "I can not blame her, and it's the damn Vicomte's fault for arranging all this!" he cursed as pain shot through his leg as he attempted to put some weight on it. What was he going to do? He needed to save his friends, and stop Christine from leaving Paris! He needed to get word to her that he was alive, that he was alright, and he feared for her too. If the Vicomte had mastered this whole plot to kill him…there was no end to the handsome nobleman's villainy.

"Where is she now?" he asked, groaning at the pain in his leg.

"At my home, with her father. Daae went to get train tickets; I believe they will try to leave Paris tonight."

Erik nodded. He had no idea what the time was now, but he needed to get word to her as soon as possible. "Tell her I'm alright, and have both her and Daae stay where they are and lock the doors. Unless it is either you or your daughter, do not let anyone else inside."

Madame Giry felt a cold chill run down her spine at the serious tone of Erik's words. "What do you suspect?"

"I don't know," he groaned, attempting to put some weight on his leg once more. "But knowing she is safe is all that matters. Just tell her that I am alright and I will come to her later, but do not let her leave that house for anything!"

Madame Giry nodded her head in agreement. "I shall leave at once and get word to her right away…and what are you going to do?"

Erik took several deep breaths, fighting the pain that was in his leg as he stood away from the wall, his weight balancing back and forth between his legs. "Rudolph and I are going to pay a visit to Monsieur Ronaldi."

"Erik! That is not wise–"

"WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO?" he roared in anger. "I am not exactly the sort of man who can rely on the police for help!"

"Erik you can not fight him! He has a hoards of men, and you…you can barely walk!" Erik had nearly lost his life; she did not want him to go looking for an opportunity to put it at stake.

"We shall take the black carriage," Erik explained, ignoring her concern. "Do you think you can help me?" he asked, looking at Rudolph who had been watching the whole scene with a trembling lip.

The hunchback was unsure. He tried to avoid any kind of fighting; besides, the Master was always there to protect them. But now, it was the Master who was in need of his strength, the Master who was asking him to be his second man, and then he thought of Jacque, Gustave, and Suzette…being held in cages, being beaten with whips and rocks…

A great storm of rage filled his eyes. "Y-yes Master," he growled, in a way similar to Erik's. "I w-w-will f-fetch the carriage."

Madame Giry threw her hands up into the air. "This is crazy! Erik, you can't expect Rudolph–"

"He's not a boy, madam, but a man. A man who has proven several times today to be capable of looking after himself, as well as others. And I will not sit here another second, knowing that my…my family…are being held in cages!" he spat bitterly.

It was a pointless battle. Nothing she said would stop him, and she knew how important it was to help Suzette and the others. "I remember hearing news about a gypsy carnival just outside of Paris," she murmured, "to the north."

Erik nodded his head and limped in the direction Rudolph had gone, his back straight, his broad shoulders square, and his head lifted high. "Go and send word to Christine. And tell her…tell her I love her, and that I will see her again, very soon." he paused, turning and looking back at the woman who had been a guardian angel to all of them throughout the years. "Thank you…for everything"

Madame Giry nodded her head, a tearful smile spreading across her face. "You're welcome…and be careful," she whispered.

"I promise," Erik vowed.

 

* * *

 

Daae sighed and glanced at the clock in Madame Giry's parlor. He could not believe how quickly the day had flown. It was after four and he knew that within the hour, Christine would be back and the two of them would leave to catch their train.

He set down the cup of tea he had been sipping, and tried to think of the positive things that awaited them in Sweden. It had been years since he had visited his home country, and while a part of him longed to see his sister and the land of his birth…he knew, like Christine, he would miss Paris immensely.

A knock on the door interrupted Daae's thoughts. Christine had returned earlier than he had expected. He rose from his chair and opened the door, ready to embrace his daughter who he expected to find in tears…but his blood turned cold at the sight that greeted him.

"Ah, good afternoon, Monsieur Daae," Raoul greeted, as thunder softly growled overhead. "I do hope I am not intruding?"

Raoul's hand slammed against the door, stopping it from closing when Daae attempted to shut it in the nobleman's face. "Now that is rude," Raoul sighed, pushing his way in. "A proper gentleman would have at least invited me in for tea."

Daae glared at the man before him, the man who only a few weeks ago he had thought was the epitome of good manners and gentility. "You, monsieur, need a lesson in how to be gentleman," Daae spat. "Get out of this house!"

Raoul ignored the old man and pushed his way past him, taking a seat in the chair Daae had occupied, and helping himself to a cup of tea. "It is not your house to be throwing orders," Raoul murmured, as he added sugar to his cup. "And I'm not here to see you, but your charming daughter."

Daae had gone from a hot red to a deep shade of purple. "YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER!" he shouted. "YOU ARE PURE FILTH! I KNOW WHAT YOU TRIED TO DO–"

"Must you shout? It can hurt one's head."

Daae could not believe the arrogance of this man! The conceitedness! The way he assumed authority wherever he went! He opened his mouth to shout other, more crude, obscenities at the nobleman, but was robbed from all speech when he felt two strong arms grip his own, pulling them behind his back, causing him to flail helplessly. Who was his unseen attacker?

"Thank you, Daniel," Raoul complimented his coachman, as he sipped the tea from his cup. "Now, Monsieur Daae, perhaps you can answer a few questions for me?"

"Go to hell!" Daae spat, struggling against the coachman's strong grip.

Raoul sighed and rose from his chair. Without pausing or blinking, his fist made contact with the old man's stomach, causing Daae to crumple and groan in pain. "Now…" Raoul murmured, grasping the old man's gray head and lifting it up to look at him. "Let's try this again," he said with a devilish smile. "I understand that you and Christine have quit the opera house…and judging by your bags," Raoul noted, "I'd say you're planning on going on a long trip. But why on earth would you be doing that? And once more…where would you be going?"

"I'll tell you nothing!" Daae coughed in agony as Raoul's walking stick made contact with his gut.

"Are you that stubborn?" Raoul grumbled. "Best let me know now; I'd hate to be doing this all night."

Daae simply spat at the Vicomte's feet, although he felt horribly sick in his stomach from the beating.  
Raoul sighed, realizing there was no reasoning with the old man, and knew he would be forced to use different tactics. "Monsieur Daae, I have been more than patient with you and your daughter, but my patience is growing extremely thin. If you do not begin answering my questions…" with a simple snap of his fingers, two burly gypsies entered the foyer, each dragging the bound and gagged housekeeper, "then I shall be forced to take out my anger on this innocent woman."

Daae stared wide eyed at the Vicomte. Surely he was not capable of committing such villainy! But Daae knew he was a man who looked like a gentleman, and could pass off as one in society, and yet who was capable of nearly committing rape on his daughter, not to mention beat a helpless old man. Daae gasped in horror as Raoul lifted his arm to backhand Madame Giry's housekeeper, the poor woman's eyes lit with terror. "No! I'll tell you whatever you wish! Just please, don't hurt her!"

Raoul lowered his arm and a satisfied smile spread across his handsome features. "Good man."

 

* * *

 

It was quiet in the chapel; peaceful and calm. Christine wished she had visited this place more often when she had been a member of the company. It was nice to be away from the chatter and noise of the opera house, preparing for its opening night of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

Christine had seen very little when she had entered the majestic building. She was still in shock at how hard it had been to enter; it seemed as if her own feet refused to carry her up the stone steps that led into the grand foyer. Yet she pushed herself to do it, and once inside, quickly discovered that everyone was on stage, going over the last bits of the opera before its inaugural performance.

Christine gazed from a crack in the door and felt her heart swell with sadness as she watched Carlotta sing Aminta's songs. Yes, it had been her choice to quit, but she would be lying if she admitted she truly didn't want to play the part. The truth of the matter was that she did…but not without Erik. It wouldn't be the same without his presence haunting the stage from overhead.

Meg and the other ballet girls were extremely busy, dancing from one scene to the next. Christine wanted to say goodbye to her new friend, but realized it would be impossible, and inconsiderate to interrupt the rehearsal. Also, she did not wish to draw any attention to herself, especially from the managers who were talking with one another as they watched the rehearsal.

With a heavy heart, Christine went to the chapel, grateful to find it empty. It was a simple room; a single stained glass window with a beautiful picture of an angel illuminated the room with color, and beside a cross that hung from one wall, laid a small row of candles, some looking ancient and worn, many covered with dust. A box of matches lay on the ground beside the candles, and Christine quickly lit one. She knelt beside the cross, and gazed at the broken vent that Madame Giry had pried open, that now only resembled burnt wood and crumpled stone. With her hands folded, Christine closed her eyes and began to pray, allowing the tears to flow freely down her cheeks.

"Erik…" she whispered. "If you can hear me…please know how much I love you. I…I miss you terribly…" she gasped as a sob escaped her throat. "I…I wish…" she paused to gather her senses. "I know you thought little of yourself…but I know your heart…and I know that you are with God, composing beautiful music for the choirs of angels…" she smiled slightly at this comforting thought. "I only pray that…that you can forgive me for quitting," she continued, feeling her eyes sting from the tears. "Please know that, no matter what, I shall always be your Aminta…" she bit her lip to keep from sobbing, although her body was violently shaking with the need. "I will be going far away…but I have already vowed to bring our child back, when he or she is old enough to understand. I will tell them about you, how their father was a great composer…and I will show them the Paris Opera House…you will live on in our child…and forever, in my heart."

She couldn't go on anymore, the sorrow had become too much. Her folded hands rose to cradle her face as she sobbed into them, moaning softly, shaking and trembling with grief. After a long moment, she finally lifted her head, and sat in silence while she listened to the orchestra play Erik's music. Her red, puffy eyes, lifted to the image of the angel on the window, which would brighten now and then as lightning illuminated the late afternoon sky.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian…" she found herself softly singing. "Grant to me your glory…" her words were faint, and it pained her to sing them, but it was truly, the only way she could say goodbye to her beloved.

"Angel of Music, hide no longer…  
Come to me, strange angel…"

Her voice died away, but for a moment, her eyes locked with the vent, hoping, praying, knowing it was impossible, but still wishing that any second…Erik would emerge from the entrance.

In the distance, she heard a clock chime the hour. It was time for her to hurry back so she and her father could catch their train.

With a sad sigh, she silently rose to her feet, and carefully, removed the beautiful red rose Erik had given to her the night he had visited her bedroom, from the inside of her cloak. Oh so gently, she laid the fragile flower at the dusty entrance of the secret passage. "Goodbye…" she whispered, before turning and hurrying away before anyone caught sight of her.

It was quicker to take a coach back to Madame Giry's town house; she had enough coins in her purse to afford one. It didn't take long for Christine to hail one and receive the ride she needed to the home of the ballet mistress. It was a smart choice, as the clouds opened up over head and began to pour.

She leaned back and continued to stare out the window, as people covered their heads and quickly rushed indoors to escape the rain. In her head, a slow, haunting melody began to play over and over.

"In sleep he sang to me…in dreams he came…  
that voice which calls to me, and speaks my name…  
And do I dream again? For now, I find  
The Phantom of the Opera is there–  
inside my mind."

The coach came to a sudden jerk. They were there already? She thanked the driver and quickly paid him, before rushing up the steps of the town house to get out of the rain as quickly as possible.

"Papa!" Christine gasped, when she finally managed to get inside. "We had best think of taking a coach to the station, it is pouring outside–"

"I don't think a coach will be necessary, my dear."

Christine froze as the all too familiar voice from her nightmares filled her ears. With painful agony, she slowly turned to face the man she despised with all her heart.

"So nice to see you, my dear mademoiselle!" Raoul greeted all too warmly. He was sitting, comfortably, in a chair in Madame Giry's parlor, holding his arms out in a gesture of welcome, while the smoke from one of his cigars polluted the air. "I have missed you, dearly."

Without a second glance, Christine turned to quickly escape, but gasped in shock as a large gypsy blocked her exit from the other side of the door.

"Ah, we shall have none of that now," Raoul casually sighed, rising from his chair.

Christine turned away from the gypsy, and bit back a scream as she realized several large, burly, dark-haired men were closing in on her from all different angles of the room. She turned and faced Raoul, anger seething in her eyes. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" she screamed at him, feeling the hysteria begin to rise within her.

"You know the answer to that, Christine."

She shook her head. She couldn't believe this was happening! "WHY?" she demanded. "Why me? I'm nothing! Even you can admit that!"

"I could, once upon a time," Raoul murmured, inhaling from his cigar as he examined her. His little rose did indeed have vicious thorns, but he had learned the proper way to plunk and destroy such delicate petals. "But you have become much more than 'nothing', my dear."

Christine lifted her chin, trying to remain brave, but finding it difficult. The more the men closed in around her, the more hysterical she became. Was this his revenge? Would he let these men defile her body, and happily watch as they did so, over and over again? Her hands went to her stomach in a protective fashion, feeling the bile rise in her throat. She had to remain calm, she had to be strong!

"Where is my father!" she demanded, lifting her chin and refusing to show him her fear.

"He's fine," Raoul murmured simply. "And you shall see him, quite soon, but first…I have a business matter to settle with you."

Christine's eyes narrowed with confusion from his choice of words. "Business matter?"

"Yes," Raoul sighed, exhaling another cloud of smoke from his nostrils, before putting the cigar out on the chair's arm. "I have a great deal of money invested in this opera…and the public is expecting a little nobody named Christine Daae, to be playing the part…not Carlotta. So, I need you in that opera."

That was it? He had come to bully and frighten her to simply sing in Erik's opera? She opened her mouth to speak, but Raoul immediately carried on.

"Second," he continued. "As soon as the performance is over and you have taken your bow, you leave the opera house, with me…"

Christine swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing there was something she was going to despise about this. "And?"

Raoul couldn't help but grin. "Well…I might as well do this properly." She stared with wide eyes as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a dazzling diamond and gold ring, before falling to one knee in front of her. "Christine Daae, will you marry me?"

He had to be joking.

There could be no other explanation!

She wanted to kick him on the chin and remove that smug smile with her boot.

"Now, before you lose your delicate feminine senses and are overcome by tears of joy," he muttered with sarcasm, rising to his feet. "Allow me to explain what I mean about this being a 'business venture'." He nodded to two of the gypsies, and with a knowing smile, the two men disappeared through the kitchen entrance. "I know you don't like me, and I've accepted that…but I am giving you a choice, my dear," he said with a charming smile. "A choice to accept my proposal, or to decline it. However, before you make your decision, allow me to offer you an early wedding gift."

Suddenly, one of the gypsies that had left moments ago, returned, hauling her father into the room by his bound wrists.

"PAPA!" Christine gasped with horror at seeing his black and blue face. There were bruises all over his face, his lip was bleeding, and he was groaning in pain. "You…you monster!" she shouted at Raoul, but several strong arms reached out and grabbed her before she could launch herself at the blonde nobleman.

"Wait…it gets better," Raoul grinned, before snapping his fingers once more. The other gypsy, who had disappeared, emerged again, this time hauling a burlap sack over his shoulder. He didn't even bother to place the sack on the ground, before opening it to pour out the sack's contents.

A bound, gagged, and badly bruised Suzette, tumbled out in front of Christine's feet.

"SUZETTE!" she gasped, fighting against the arms that held her, wanting to fall to her knees and embrace the tiny woman. She was alive! But how in the world had Raoul gotten his hands on her? "LET HER GO!" Christine shouted. "SHE'S DONE NOTHING TO YOU, LET HER GO!"

"Now wait, my dear," Raoul reasoned, his tone extremely patronizing. "Before we make any rash decisions, I want you to fully understand the gift I am offering you…so, please…look out the window."

One of the gypsies grasped the curtains and yanked them back, and Christine felt the color drain from her face, as she took in the sight of two wagons, each containing a cage, and inside those two cages, lay the crumpled figures of Jacque and Gustave.

The tears that ran down her face were cold as a sick realization washed over her.

"My good business partner, Monsieur Ronaldi, has a most extraordinary carnival," Raoul softly explained. "He collects all kinds of monsters, and so when I told him about your hunchback friend, his interest was, shall we say, aroused."

Christine slowly turned to face the Vicomte, her voice straining from the horror of the situation. "What do you want?"

All traces of humor and sarcasm faded from Raoul's green gaze. "You, Christine. You as my wife. After tonight's performance, you will leave the opera house with me, and we shall immediately be married. That is the choice I am giving you…and they," he pointed to Jacque, Gustave, and Suzette, "are my wedding present to you. Should you accept my proposal, I will pay Monsieur Ronaldi quite handsomely, and have your friends released. However, should you refuse, not only will Monsieur Ronaldi be adding three new additions to his freak show, but I will personally see to it that your dear, devoted, and _insane_ father…be taken immediately to the nearest asylum. After all, we can't have a madmen like him, who raves about masked fiends, be walking the streets now, can we?"

Christine stared at the man before her with cold, horrifying, disbelief. Was it possible for a human being to be so cruel? "You call that a choice?" she whispered.

"Indeed, I do," Raoul murmured. "An unfair choice, perhaps, but…such is life." He retrieved the ring once more and held it out to her. "So my dear, what is your decision?"

 


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's opening night of Don Juan Triumphant! And it's bound to be a performance that no one will forget...

_**Triumphant** _

He had heard her. In the depths of his ruined home, he had heard her sweet angelic voice, singing through the tears, calling out for her Angel of Music.

Once upon a time, Erik would not have imagined a sweet angel, like her, weeping over him. He would not have imagined that God could be merciful, and show him acceptance, belonging, and love. But Erik was not the man he once was; he was a man who knew such things now, who felt such things. And when he heard her call out for him, he moved as quickly as his injured leg would allow, struggling over jagged rocks, pushing fallen boulders away, desperate to reach his angel, desperate to ease her sadness and offer her comfort.

But it was too late.

By the time he had reached the place where he had heard her singing, she was already gone. All that remained was a lit candle, and a drying rose, lying in the dust.

Carefully, he picked up the flower, and softly blew the dust from its petals. He immediately took notice how several of those petals, including the flower's leaves, contained small beads of moisture; his angel had left her tears with her gift.

Erik was not a man who felt pity, at least not easily, but he pitied his angel now, and his chest tightened with emotion as he imagined the pain she was feeling. She thought him dead; she had come to this place to say goodbye.

"No," Erik growled, deep and low, his chest rumbling like thunder. He would not let her pain and sorrow consume her further. He would not lose her to grief, and he would stop her before she left.

He cursed Ronaldi over and over, as he slowly made his way back into the ruined labyrinth. Enough time had already been wasted, he had to hurry and rescue his friends before any further horrors could be inflicted upon them. But he longed to seek Christine out, to take her in his arms and hold her tight, to feel her tears against his flesh, and hear her voice in his ear. He would go to her now, if it had not been for Ronaldi.

He only prayed that Madame Giry would reach her before she left…

 

* * *

 

Christine carefully dabbed at her father's bruises with a warm cloth, casting an angry, hateful glare, every now and then to the handsome man who stood several feet away from her, and who was having a hushed conversation with one of the gypsies; an older man with long silver hair.

"Christine…"

"Hush Papa, it's alright," Christine whispered, gently dabbing at the cut on his lip.

"No," Daae gasped, his stomach throbbing with pain from the many times he had been punched with Raoul's cane. "No…y-you can not do this!"

Christine's heart broke at the pain in her father's words. "I have no choice, Papa," she whispered, fighting back the tears that stung the corner of her eyes. "I must."

"Christine, I am an old man, I have lived my life–"

"I believe my fiancée has already made her decision," Raoul interrupted, an arrogant grin spreading across his handsome face. "After all, she could not condemn those poor creatures to such a life…even if there is no other life for them," he grumbled.

Christine wanted to spit on him. She did not think it was possible for her own hatred towards the Vicomte de Chagny to grow any further, but he always had a knack for proving her wrong when it came to that particular subject. "How will I know you will keep your end of our 'business venture'?" she asked, not trusting him one bit.

"Now don't go and worry your pretty head over such matters; a woman's mind is far too delicate to comprehend such things," he cooed in his most patronizing tone.

It took every ounce of willpower for Christine not to leap forward and scratch out his eyes. "I have made my choice!" Christine shouted with disgust. "I am your fiancée, and I demand that you treat me with respect, and that you honor my wishes and your wedding present to me!"

The mirth in Raoul's eyes quickly vanished. Christine gasped when in one simple stride, he was in front of her, his hand painfully grasping her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Let us get one thing clear, my dear. I am the master of my own home…and when you are my wife, you will do as a wife is required: love, honor, and OBEY!" he released her chin with a hurtful jerk, causing Christine to cry out. She lifted her hands to rub her skin, her body trembling from Raoul's sudden explosion. What had she condemned herself to? Truly, she had made a deal with the devil himself…

"As for your 'present'," Raoul sneered, ignoring the fear and pain in Christine's eyes. "Monsieur Ronaldi and I have an understanding. He will keep them during the opera's performance, as well as your dear father," he grinned at the old man. "After you have finished, I shall come to your dressing room, and you and I shall quickly take our leave, where we shall travel to my country château, where a priest will be waiting. Ronaldi and his men will follow us, and once there, your father can give you away, while your freakish friends can sit as witnesses, on the bride's side of course," he casually explained, "and after you say those two simple words, and the priest pronounces the blessing…Monsieur Ronaldi will release them."

Christine glared up at him with disgust. "Just like that? He'll just open their cages and let them go?"

Raoul cocked one golden brow at Christine's question. "Is there something you dislike, my dear?"

"Yes, but I'm not talking about you just now," she snapped. Raoul couldn't help but smirk at her attempts to wound him. "I want them taken someplace safe, a place where they will not have to fear about being taken and caged ever again."

Raoul folded his arms across his chest. "And do you have any suggestions on such a place?" _This ought to be interesting_ , he thought.

Christine lifted her chin, knowing it was dangerous to attempt to even suggest such a thing, but needing to try at the very least. "Yes…I want them to stay with me."

Raoul paled at the young woman's words. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?"

"No!" Christine shouted, rising to her feet and squaring her shoulders in defiance. "They are my friends! I will look after them! I will–"

"You will shut up and do as you are told!" Raoul growled, shoving her back down onto the couch. "And I will not have a trio of freaks parading around my home, even as servants!"

Christine's glare was venomous. "You call yourself a man, but you are nothing but a sniveling, wretched, disgusting–"

"CHRISTINE!" her father cried, when Raoul whirled around and backhanded her across the jaw.

"You'd be wise to educate your daughter, monsieur, on how a wife should properly address her future husband," the Vicomte snarled, sending a threatening glance to both Christine and her father. "And I have made my deal," Raoul hissed at the pretty brunette, who was rubbing her jaw from where he had struck her. Christine met his gaze and glared back at him, refusing to show him one tear. "You are mine; your mind, your body, and your soul belong to me now."

Christine bravely shook her head. "You're wrong," she whispered. "You may force me into this marriage…but you will never truly possess me."

Raoul clenched his fist, fighting the urge to beat her senseless. As tempting as it was, he knew he could not have tonight's Aminta looking black and blue. "We shall see about that," he growled, reaching out and yanking her arm forward, twisting her wrist in a hurtful grasp. "And we shall start with this!"

"NO!" Christine struggled, but the more she attempted to pull away, the harder Raoul twisted her wrist.

He pulled the diamond ring that Erik had given her off her finger, and flung it over his shoulder, before forcing the new ring that he had presented, down her finger. "No bride of mine will be wearing anything that once belonged to a madman."

Christine bit her lip to keep from crying as she felt Raoul's hurtful grip squeeze her wrist, while he shoved the new ring on. She hated it; it was gaudy, it was extravagant, it wasn't Erik's! Oh God above, was her child to be raised by such a monster? Did she dare say anything about the child? No, Raoul would surely find some way to destroy the babe; were she not with Erik's child, she would willingly take her life, but she had to survive for the child's sake. She vowed, then and there, that as soon as the babe was born, she would flee her tyrannical husband. She didn't care if she lived the rest of her life as a beggar on the streets, she would not allow her son or daughter to be raised by such a man.

"Someone's here…" Ronaldi grumbled, staring out the window.

Raoul said nothing; he immediately moved to the window and cursed as his eyes focused on the figure of Madame Giry. "What is she doing here?" he growled with annoyance.

Christine couldn't see who he was talking about, but she had a good suspicion. "HELP! PLEASE! HELP US!" she screamed, before one of the burly gypsies covered her mouth with his sweaty palm.

Raoul glared at his future wife, but shut his mouth from saying anything when the door suddenly burst open. "Christine? I heard screaming! I–"

Madame Giry gasped as she felt someone come up from behind her and hold her fast, quickly removing the cane she carried, and covering her mouth before she could scream.

Raoul had to admit it; Ronaldi's men were quite handy to have. "Good evening, Madame," he greeted, once the gypsy turned Madame Giry around to face him. "I'm surprised to see you here, I thought you would be helping your dear little ballet troop prepare for tonight's performance."

Madame Giry glared at the Vicomte with pure hatred. If a dirty and horrible smelling hand weren't covering her mouth, she would tell him exactly what she was thinking.

"I do hope the adorable Mademoiselle Giry will not be disturbing us tonight, I don't know if I will have enough room in my carriage."

A yowl of pain escaped from the gypsy who had been covering Christine's mouth. "She bit me! She bit me!"

"Oh stop your whining," Ronaldi muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Let her go!" Christine spat, now free to speak. "She has done nothing to you, release her! I have already promised you that I will be your wife!"

Madame Giry's eyes widened with horror. The gypsy who had been covering her mouth quickly released it, after his friend started yowling. "Christine…" the older woman gasped. "Oh Christine, no, you can't…"

"Indeed, she can," Raoul muttered. "And she made the choice by her own free will, is that not right, my dear?"

Madame Giry's eyes narrowed into cold black slits. "You bastard…you forced her to make that choice!" the ballet mistress accused.

"Please Raoul, please let her go!" Christine pleaded once more. "Please…give Suzette and the others over to her, she will take care of them for me, I promise, I will not press the issue further, please…"

Raoul tilted his head, as if considering Christine's words, but she could immediately tell that he was only mocking her. "I already told you of my deal…and that is the final word on the matter. And as for our dear ballet mistress, I think it would be best that we take her with us. After all, we are all going to the same place," he offered with a charming smile, fooling no one.

Madame Giry looked at Christine with confusion. "What do you mean about giving Suzette and the others over to me?" she whirled her head back towards the Vicomte. "You have them?" she gasped.

"They're my 'wedding present'," Christine spat with as much hate as she could muster. "If I marry him, he will set them free."

Madame Giry could not believe it. Erik had been right in his suspicions; the Vicomte was behind the explosion! She looked over at the silver-haired gypsy who had been observing this whole scene, and immediately remembered him when she had gone to the carnival with the other ballet girls so long ago. Raoul had helped Ronaldi find the others, and was using them as a means to blackmail Christine into marrying him.

How despicable could a human being be?

Suddenly, Christine's mind cleared, and a horrifying question burst through her head. Why was it that she had seen Suzette, Jacque, and Gustave…but not Rudolph? "Where's Rudolph?" she gasped, her mind reeling with desperation. "Why haven't I seen him?"

"The hunchback?" Ronaldi asked. "Didn't find him…but then, I have no need for one, so it doesn't matter."

Christine stared at this man who had said very little since he had entered the room, wondering what sort of person could happily make money by showing off other human beings? She had her answer now, especially after the way he dismissed Rudolph's gentle, caring life: a villain.

"Well," Raoul sighed, looking at his pocket watch. "It's ten minutes after six, so there's no need to worry about your train," he said to Daae. "And the curtain goes up at eight, so we had best be on our way to the opera house to prepare."

Christine felt so hollow. In the last 24 hours, all of her worst nightmares seemed to be coming to life. How on earth was she going to be able to sing?

"Throw the old man into one of the cages with the freaks," Raoul muttered, despite the protests that came from Christine and her father. "Come, my dear," he said, while yanking her up from where she sat. "We must get you to the opera house…your public awaits."

 

* * *

 

Erik cursed the Vicomte. He cursed Ronaldi. He even cursed himself, for his own bad luck.

He stood in the opera house stables, staring at the black carriage that had normally been his saving grace, when needing to move about the city during the daylight, but for the first time, the carriage was no good.

Any carriage was no good, when one did not have horses to pull it. It seemed that the Vicomte and his gypsy partners had thought of everything, even robbing the stable of its horses

He hated feeling this way: helpless. Normally, he would attempt to "borrow" someone else's horses and carriage, however, a storm was raging outside, making his normal aloofness near impossible. He would be noticed right away, and due to the injury with his ankle, the possibility of attempting to go on foot was out of the question.

Erik leaned against one of the wooden walls of the stall, taking some weight off his leg. He always considered himself a fast healer, and was grateful that it was getting easier for him to stand and walk, despite the pain that throbbed in his ankle. Perhaps as soon as the rain let up, he could sneak out into the shadows, and take one of the carriages that belonged to one of the many fancy-dressed opera patrons–

"Master?"

Erik turned to Rudolph's voice. The hunchback had been searching throughout the opera house stables, looking to see if the horses were somewhere else. Erik had little hope, but perhaps Rudolph had some surprising news to share? However, the expression on his face froze Erik's blood, and in his hand, he noticed that the hunchback carried a piece of paper.

"I f-f-found a n-note," Rudolph explained, handing the paper over to Erik. From the look on Rudolph's face, Erik could tell that his friend had already read it. Without any question, he opened it immediately, recognizing Madame Giry's handwriting.

_Erik–_

_I hope you can read this, I had to write as quickly as I could, so I apologize if it is difficult. I was on my way home, to stop Christine from leaving, when I noticed two wagons suspiciously moving down the ally from the front of my house. I carefully followed them and learned my worst fear. Ronaldi is here, in Paris, and he has the others. But what's worse, your suspicions were correct; he is working with the Vicomte! I can only imagine what villainy the two of them are concocting, but I beg you, do not attempt to come to my home…I do not think that will be necessary. I believe, deep in my bones, that Raoul has every intention of bringing Christine here. I am going to go back now, and pretend as if I know nothing; hopefully Raoul will keep me close to Christine. Stand ready by the mirror in her dressing room. I hope to get the Vicomte to reveal his whole plan, if I can._

The note crumpled into his fists. He would make the Vicomte pay dearly for this…

"Master?" Rudolph asked, noticing Erik's angry reaction to the letter. "D-d-do you t-think t-they will b-bring Suzette a-and the others h-here too?"

"I don't know," Erik growled, his voice a dangerously low depth. "We can only hope."

Rudolph swallowed the nervous lump in his throat. "W-w-what a-are we going to do?"

"We're going to follow Madame Giry's instructions and wait by the mirror," he growled once more. "And I vow Rudolph, I vow to you and to God…it will all end… _tonight_."

 

* * *

 

Christine felt sick. Sick for several reasons.

She was sick with worry for her friends; she did not trust Raoul to keep his word. The way he and Ronaldi spoke in hushed whispers earlier, the way the gypsy seemed so cool and confident, as Raoul explained how he would release Gustave, Jacque, and Suzette if she married him; everything about the situation. She just could not trust him.

She was also feeling quite nervous, which caused her stomach to unpleasantly churn. She remembered seeing the many elegant carriages pulling up in front of the Paris Opera House, which had never looked more beautiful. Raoul, never letting go of her arm, dragged her down a side hallway towards her dressing room, while his coachman dragged Madame Giry.

She didn't see much of the grand foyer, but what she did see caused Christine's stomach to flip flop.

So many people! Men and women elegantly dressed, laughing and greeting one another, despite the storm that raged outside, all talking at once, murmuring their questions as to who the new star was, what the opera was about, why the performance dates had been changed; she could only imagine how the auditorium would look once all those people entered its majestic doors.

But the excitement she wanted to feel for such a night had died in that explosion, when Erik's world had collapsed beneath her feet.

The final reason to why she felt sick, and the reason that ruled over all others, was due to the horrid, lecherous smile, that Raoul was giving her, as she got dressed for the evening's performance.

"It's bad luck, to see the bride before the wedding," Madame Giry grumbled, as she pulled at the laces on Christine's corset.

"It would be even worse luck leaving you two alone to plot against me," Raoul muttered back, his eyes moving over Christine's luscious skin.

Once Raoul had made it clear that he would be going into the dressing room along with Christine, Madame Giry insisted that she help the young woman dress, trying her best to shield Christine's body with her own.

Christine was grateful for Madame Giry's presence, but chose to try and ignore the arrogant Vicomte, keeping her back to him, pretending she didn't care if he caught sight of her in her undergarments.

"I must say, Christine," he murmured, "from what I have seen so far…I must confess I am looking forward to our wedding night."

Christine paled at the thought of Raoul touching her, of his body covering hers, of him forcing himself inside her…

Madame Giry thrust a glass of cool water into Christine's hand. "Drink this, my dear," she murmured, her eyes focusing on the Vicomte's. "It will ease your stomach."

Raoul only grinned, catching every meaning behind the ballet mistress' words. "You know, my dear madam, I happened upon your charming daughter earlier today…"

Madame Giry froze at the man's words. Her black eyes captured his, and a deep, venomous hiss, escaped her lips. "You stay away from Meg."

Raoul feigned disappointment. "You do not approve? Surely, I would have thought that you would be overjoyed, upon learning that I wished to make the darling dancer my mistress."

"Stop it!" Christine snapped, her eyes locked with Raoul's and her hands gripping the older woman's shoulders; she looked ready to scratch the nobleman's eyes out, if she had the chance. And Christine knew there was no other reason for Raoul's cruel words other than to goad Madame Giry.

"Do you not approve?" Raoul asked, flashing a charming smile in Christine's direction.

She returned his smile with a cold glare. "A man should not talk about such things in front of his wife," she muttered, turning her attention back to the dressing table mirror to finish applying her make-up.

Madame Giry took a deep breath and felt her calmness return. She knew he had only done that to annoy her, but she also knew he was capable of making it happen, if he so wished.

The older woman's eyes drifted over to the mirror at the other side of the room. As far as she was aware, Raoul did not know the mirror's secrets. She only prayed that Erik had received her message. "How did you do it?" she casually asked, finishing the laces on Christine's corset.

Raoul was surprised she was actually talking to him. "Do what?"

"Arrange all this," she explained, taking the first costume Christine would be wearing, and helping the young woman put it on. "How did you know about the others? How did you learn where to find them?"

Christine froze momentarily after hearing Madame Giry's questions. She too, was quite curious how this had all come to be.

Raoul couldn't help but smile, quite smugly. "Much of the credit goes to Christine, herself," he explained. "After her gallant rescue of the hunchback, I realized that there was only one place where she could have met such a monster…and so I had some men follow her on the night she brought him back–"

"You had people follow me?" Christine gasped, whirling her head around to stare at the man she was going to be marrying, unfortunately.

"You brought it upon yourself, my dear," he defended, waving his hand as if he were done with her. Christine was fuming, but Madame Giry's gentle, reassuring hand on her back, helped her to stay calm.

"So through these men, you discovered a way inside. Quite clever, I must say," she added, feeding his over-sized ego even more. "But how did you meet Ronaldi? How did you learn that he was connected to all this?"

"Learning that Ronaldi had a history with the Phantom was pure coincidence. But I remembered hearing about a gypsy carnival just outside Paris that displayed a variety of monsters. I thought that Monsieur Ronaldi would be interested in what I had discovered, and perhaps with his help, my 'Phantom' problem, could be solved."

Christine gripped the edge of her dressing table, feeling the anger fuel her body. "You bastard," she hissed. "YOU ORGANIZED THAT EXPLOSION! I KNEW YOU HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT!"

"Christine!" Madame Giry hushed, gripping the young woman's shoulders, forcing her to stay where she was. She understood the girl's anger very well, but now was not the time to lose one's head. "Hush my dear, hush," she soothed, her hands holding the girl's arms, feeling the muscles tremble with rage. "It will all be alright, I promise," she whispered, continuing her work with lacing up the costume.

Raoul's smirk only continued to grow at Christine's outburst. "I see no reason why I should hide the truth…and even if you did try to accuse me in public, it wouldn't stand; there's no evidence you can hold against me, and who would believe you? I am the Vicomte de Chagny, after all. Why would I risk sabotaging a theater that I have invested so much money in?

Christine hated him. She hated him so passionately, and she hated him even more because she knew he was right.

"Every man has his price, as does Ronaldi. Once he and his men were inside, they took the monsters they could find, and went about lacing the tunnels with gun powder."

Christine was trembling, trying to keep control of her emotions. "Why?" she gasped through the sobs that threatened to break forth. "Why?"

The amusement that had lit Raoul's eyes earlier, faded away, and without another thought or word, his hand reached inside the pocket of his suit jacket, and pulled out the leather glove that Marguerite had revealed to him several days ago. "Perhaps you can explain why you keep this under your pillow at night!" he spat with anger, throwing the glove onto the dressing table before her.

Christine stared in horror at the glove he had revealed, the glove that she had taken from Erik's realm the night he forced her to leave. "How…where…?"

"I have many loyal servants," Raoul answered. "And you have already confirmed my suspicions about you and that monster," he grumbled with disgust.

"Yes, which asks the question, why you're still marrying her?"

Both Christine and Raoul turned to Madame Giry, confusion lit in both their eyes. "I beg your pardon?" Raoul asked, trying to hold back his irritation.

"What is your reasoning for wishing to marry Christine?" the ballet mistress asked, adjusting the final lace on Christine's costume. "After all, she is 'used goods' so to speak, and even if you have killed your enemy, you still have to live with the knowledge that you are not the first man to bed her."

Christine couldn't believe what Madame Giry was saying! She was turning beet red as she listened to the woman's crude words. But one look at Raoul, and Christine quickly realized what the older woman was doing.

Raoul was gripping his walking stick so tightly, that his knuckles were turning a ghostly shade of white. His jaw was clenched so tightly that both women could hear his teeth grinding together. But he closed his eyes, counted to five, before opening them and taking a deep breath. "I have been with countless women, madam, and many of them were not virgins when I bedded them. It shall make no difference."

Madame Giry cocked a dark brow at the nobleman's words. "True, but those other women never bedded a man who hid his disfigured features beneath a mask."

Raoul's calm smile disappeared and a low, dangerous growl, erupted from his chest.

"After all, Christine gave herself to the Phantom freely; you had to blackmail her into even accepting your marriage proposal. Surely that must sting one's ego," she sighed, running a comb through Christine's hair. "And isn't she the first woman to truly 'reject' your advances?"

Christine watched Raoul closely from her dressing table mirror. She bit her lip nervously, wondering if the ballet mistress truly knew what she was doing.

"Oh! And we mustn't forget her pregnancy," Madame Giry added, after placing a crimson rose in Christine's curls.

Christine paled at the woman's words, and her eyes quickly darted to Raoul's face, fearing his reaction. Her hands instantly fell to her stomach, as if that alone would protect her unborn child.

Raoul had been fuming as Madame Giry spoke, but her final words took him completely off guard.

He was speechless!

He opened his mouth, wanting to shout, wanting to roar…and couldn't!

His face turned such a dark shade of red that it looked purple!

"You're…you're pregnant?" he hissed, forcing himself to keep his voice down so no one outside would hear.

"Are you surprised?" Madame Giry answered for Christine. "That is often the result when a man and woman couple together. Surely you are an expert with such things," she muttered, turning and facing the Vicomte with her head held high.

Raoul had never felt such outrage. Damn the Phantom! Would he ever find peace? Would that masked fiend forever haunt him, even after he was dead?

He glared at Christine with demon-like eyes; the thought of that creature's spawn, growing in the belly of his soon-to-be-wife–

"Ten minutes to curtain, Mademoiselle Daae!" shouted a voice on the other side of the dressing room door.

Christine let out a gasp from the sudden knock on her door. "I'll be r-r-right out!" she answered back, her voice trembling slightly.

Raoul continued to glare at her, his anger only kindling the more and more he looked at her. "I'll be in my box," he growled, before picking up his walking stick and stomping towards the door, yanking it open so harshly, that his coachman, who was standing on the other side, practically fell in. "Escort my bride to the stage!" he barked at the trembling coachman. "And you!" he growled, turning and facing Madame Giry. "Don't try anything…there are police everywhere, and one nod from me, and I will see to it that you are arrested!"

Madame Giry said nothing; she simply curtsied in a mocking fashion.

Raoul clenched his jaw and turned his focus on Christine. "Ronaldi and his men are just outside, with your father and those freaks, so keep that in mind during the performance," he growled. "And remember…I will be watching…closely," he warned, before turning on his heel and leaving them there.

"Oh God…" Christine gasped, letting out a worried sigh. "What have I done? What kind of life have I condemned myself to?"

Madame Giry was too busy trying to look busy, so as to fool the coachman. "I just need to put in a few more pins!" she informed the wary looking man who stood in the doorway, before going to work with Christine's hair.

"Why did you say that?" the younger woman whispered, her eyes looking to the ballet mistress from the mirror. "Why did you tell him about the child?"

Madame Giry watched the coachman out of the corner of her eye, and continued looking busy. "Every man has his weakness," she whispered into Christine's ear. "The Vicomte's happens to be his ego. And what I needed was to get him angry enough that he would leave."

Christine understood what the older woman was saying, and with trembling fingers, applied a dark shade of scarlet to her lips, hoping to also look busy in front of the suspicious coachman. "Yes, but…what about after the performance? What if he tries–"

"Hush, child," Madame Giry whispered, her eyes quickly darting to the mirror on the other wall. "All will be well; I wish I could give you more details, but do not lose faith, my dear…do not lose faith."

"She's ready, come on!" the coachman grumbled, coming forward and grabbing Christine by the elbow.

Christine glared at the man and jerked her arm away. "I am not a child! I can take myself to the stage!" she spat, before rising, giving herself one last look, and exiting the dressing room on her own.

The coachman tried to protest, but Christine pushed right past him. So instead, he turned to Madame Giry, and tried to look tougher than he was, when in truth, the woman dressed in black frightened him more than the Vicomte, himself. "C-c-come on, now," he ordered, trying to suppress the nervous stammer in his voice.

Madame Giry cocked a brow at the coachman's words, and the man immediately began to shrink beneath her cold gaze. "As you wish," she sighed, surprising the coachman with her obedience. She glanced one last time at the mirror, before turning and leaving the dressing room.

It was in his hands now.

 

* * *

 

"Master?"

Erik was growling, his whole body trembling with fury from everything that he had witnessed and heard.

Both he and Rudolph had been hiding behind the mirror, just as Madame Giry's letter had instructed, and never…never in his whole wretched life, had Erik felt such rage.

Rudolph had to literally hold him back when the Vicomte stood there, leering at Christine, while she undressed. He wanted to burst through the glass, he wanted to take Raoul's walking stick and ram it down the man's throat!

But all in good time.

The element of surprise was extremely important, and thanks to Madame Giry's clever foresight, he now knew most, if not all, of the Vicomte's plans.

Raoul was responsible for Ronaldi stealing his friends. Raoul was responsible for the explosion beneath the opera house. And Raoul had used villainous means to coax Christine into marrying him. But what Raoul didn't know was that the Phantom was very much alive...and was going to ruin everything he had worked so hard to claim.

"Come," Erik murmured to Rudolph, before turning and stalking down the tunnel.

Rudolph quickly followed, taking notice of how Erik moved with more and more ease, barely limping at all. The hunchback knew his master all too well; it was the rage that gave him strength to overcome his weaknesses. "W-w-what a-are we going to do?" he asked, wanting to help more than anything.

Erik paused, and turned down another tunnel, the one that led to the opera house's carriage stalls and horse stables, where they had been earlier that day. "Keep quiet, now," Erik whispered, slowing his steps as they got closer and closer to the stables. They kept close to the shadows, and peeked over a stone ledge that overlooked the stables below.

Just as he had suspected; Ronaldi and his men stood, huddled around two wagons, each holding an iron cage, and each cage, holding two prisoners.

"Suzette!" Rudolph gasped.

"Quiet!" Erik hissed, ducking low as one of the gypsies glanced their way. As soon as the gypsy turned his back, Erik glanced once more at the cages. In one sat Suzette and Jacque, in the other, lay Gustave and Christine's father. Several gypsies were taunting them, calling them names and rattling sticks against the bars. Horrible memories flooded Erik's brain as he took in the terrible scene before him. He had promised to never allow such things to ever happen again, to any of them. And while he had failed this much, he would see to it that they would never be put on display for an audience.

"Master?"

"I'm trying to think of a plan, Rudolph," Erik softly hushed.

"And I h-h-have one."

Erik froze and turned to gaze at the hunchback beside him. Rudolph's words had surprised him, but he quickly felt shame for even having a moment's doubt, for the determined look in Rudolph's eyes spoke more than words ever could.

"What is your plan?" he softly asked, admiring the bravery of his friend.

"I w-will s-s-s-stay here, and h-help the others," he explained. "And y-you g-g-go and s-s-save Christine."

Erik frowned at Rudolph's plan. It wasn't the most detailed plan he had ever heard, but he did not question it. He saw the determination, the courage, and the stubbornness in the other man's eyes. And Erik knew, without a doubt, that Rudolph could do this.

"You have proven yourself in more ways than one," Erik murmured with awe. "Be careful."

Rudolph grinned and nodded his head. "I w-w-will…and y-you b-be careful t-to."

Erik nodded, his hand squeezing Rudolph's shoulder with pride, before carefully slipping back through the shadows and down the tunnel that had led him to the stables.

However, instead of going back towards Christine's dressing room, he chose a different route, one that led him backstage, one that led him to the catwalks.

Even with a sprained ankle, Erik could move with ease through the many ropes that hung overhead. He listened to the orchestra's overture, and had to pause for a moment, his chest swelling with pride and wonder, as he realized that it was his music, being performed before an audience.

Right on cue, he heard Piangi burst into song, the audience clapping for the Italian as he walked out onto the stage. Erik finally reached the catwalk that overlooked the entire stage, and felt his breath catch in his throat as he took in the sight of the packed auditorium.

This was his opera, his masterpiece! After years of struggle, it was finally being performed.

And then…he heard her sweet voice fill the room.

"Think of me…think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…"

A gasp escaped the audience as Christine's bell-like tone echoed off the walls. He could not help but smile with love and pride, knowing that they too had fallen in love with her voice, just as he had.

He watched Christine from the catwalk, entranced at the sight of her, standing in the beautiful costume he had designed, her hair sparkling in the candlelight, her face glowing as she sung. A long, shaky breath, escaped his lungs; never, had he seen or heard anything so beautiful…

He would have been lost in her performance, had he not noticed her sudden flinch.

It was not overly noticeable; indeed most of the audience seemed enraptured by her voice that they had not seen anything out of the ordinary. But Erik had seen it, and his eyes traveled to what may have caused the sudden motion.

His jaw clenched and his fists tightened as he took in the sight of the Vicomte de Chagny, sitting in Box 5, looking smug and at ease. Every now and then, he would blow kisses at Christine, and Erik immediately noticed her flinch once more. No, he would not let this man ruin his opera, or his life any longer!

He turned on his heel and disappeared down the catwalk, his black cape billowing behind. He had taken notice of the many police that littered the auditorium, each holding a loaded gun, but he cared not.

A plan was forming, a plan that would not only surprise Christine, but also give the audience a performance they would never forget!

 

* * *

 

"She is extraordinary!" Andre whispered to Firmin as the audience burst into applause after the beginning of the Act III. "The people love her!"

Firmin only grinned. "I knew we could rely on the Vicomte," he whispered back. "Just look at this place! Full house! Imagine the reviews tomorrow!"

"Imagine the money!" Andre added, causing both managers to chuckle. They grinned across the auditorium at Raoul, who simply nodded his head politely, although he too shared a knowing grin.

Indeed, everything was going to plan. So what if Christine was pregnant with the Phantom's child. He'd get rid of the monster somehow; he could do anything once they were married! A satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he took in the sight of the crowded auditorium below. Carlotta could never fill an opera house like this. Perhaps he would continue to have Christine perform even after they were married? After all, he was a patron of the arts, and that way he could be closer to Madame Giry's charming little dancer.

He grinned as he imagined all the money the opera house would receive after tonight…and his grin only spread further as he imagined all the money he would inherit from his bride's dying grandfather.

Down on stage, off in the wings, Christine fought the urge to cry, despite how painful her heart ached with every note the chorus sung.

The audience was laughing as Carlotta emerged with the chorus, singing a simple chorus number, nothing grand, nothing outstanding, nothing worthy of her name. Carlotta barked the notes, hatred boiling in her veins from the audience's laughter. Every now and then she would send deadly glares up towards the managers, knowing it was their fault for forcing her out of the lead, and putting Christine back in.

Much of the company had been shocked at seeing Christine return that evening. The managers had already mentioned, on Raoul's behalf, that she had had a "change of heart", and would be performing that evening. Meg was extremely happy at seeing Christine once more, but realized something was amiss, when a strange looking man continued to follow her everywhere backstage, keeping her away from others, especially Madame Giry.

Christine lifted her eyes to the wings on the other side of the stage, watching as Madame Giry whispered some last instructions to her dancers. She could not get over how calm the older woman seemed! Did the ballet mistress know something that she did not?

"Passarino, faithful friend! Once again, recite the plan."

Christine's thoughts were interrupted by Piangi's voice. She knew her entrance was coming up, and she squared her shoulders, trying to be brave despite the dread that filled her at the thought of singing the opera's most seductive song without her beloved.

She glanced one last time at the opposite wings, and caught Madame Giry's gaze. The woman softly smiled at her, a smile that possessed hope and anticipation. Christine wanted to question the woman's smile, but heard her cue from the orchestra, and with a deep breath, stepped back out onto the stage.

"No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy!  
No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love!"

She settled herself down on the stage as rehearsed, and pulled a thin rose out from the prop basket she had been carrying. This was the scene when Don Juan fools Aminta, disguising himself as another, and seducing her into his bed, before killing her for her betrayal.

Indeed, she felt as if she were betraying Erik for accepting Raoul's proposal.

"Passarino–go away! For the trap is set…and waits for its prey…"

Christine's brow furrowed slightly as she listened to Piangi singing behind her. Strange–it sounded as if something had happened to his voice!

"You have come here…  
in pursuit of your deepest urge,  
in pursuit of that wish, which till now has been silent…"

Christine froze as the voice grew clearer and clearer behind her.

No…it wasn't possible!

She turned her head, her eyes wide and her face pale as the impact of the reality overcame her.

Erik.

Alive! Standing there! Never looking more handsome as he did at that moment, dressed as Don Juan!

His eyes held hers for a long moment, before he continued singing, lifting a finger to his lips. "…silent…"

Christine quickly turned her head away, realizing exactly what he was trying to convey. She was overjoyed at seeing him there, learning he was alive and had come to her…but he depended upon her now not to lose her senses, to maintain a professional air, to continue staying in character…and to not cause any suspicion.

"I have brought you,  
that our passions may fuse and merge–"

A soft rumble went up from around the audience as it suddenly dawned on them that Signor Piangi was not singing the lead anymore. It seemed that when he had disappeared behind that curtain, Don Juan had truly changed form.

Up in his box, Raoul was frowning. What was going on? Who was this man? He had not been aware that Piangi had an understudy! He glanced across the auditorium at the box the managers occupied, but they looked just as puzzled.

"In your mind, you've already succumbed to me,  
dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me–"

Christine could not help it, the power of Erik's voice caused her insides to melt as he sang of promised passion.

Indeed, she was not the only woman in the opera house who was affected. Several women began to suddenly fan themselves as the new Don Juan continued to sing.

"Now you are here with me:  
no second thoughts,  
you've decided,  
decided…"

Christine looked up at him once more, a warm, loving hope, filling her being for the first time since she last felt Erik holding her.

"Past the point of no return–  
no backward glances:  
the games we've played till now, are at an end…"

Christine slowly rose to her feet and gazed at him with longing, but kept it all in her eyes, not wanting to arouse any suspicions from Raoul or the managers.

"Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'–  
no use resisting:  
abandon thought, and let the dream descend…"

The audience gasped when Don Juan moved in quickly, behind Aminta, his large hands gripping her neck, as if to strangle her, but gently moving over her skin in a lover's seductive caress.

"What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us…?"

Several women began to swoon; a great flapping sound could be heard as many ladies fans began to move more and more rapidly.

Erik himself could not deny how caught up he was becoming in the song. He knew his movements and motions had shocked Christine, but he could not help but groan inwardly as he felt her respond to his caress, to his song.

Taking her arm, he ran his hands down her skin, all the way to her hand, before planting a kiss upon the knuckles, his eyes holding hers, their amber depths twinkling with promise.

"Past the point of no return,  
the final threshold–  
what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?"

He released her hand and stepped away from her, his eyes never leaving hers as he finished his song.

"Beyond the point of no return…"

Raoul's hands were gripping the arms of his chair, fury filling his eyes as the mysterious Don Juan practically made love to his fiancée on the stage. Who was that man? He leaned forward and scanned the wings as best he could from where he was sitting. Where was Madame Giry? Where was Daniel who was supposed to be watching everything? What the hell was going on?

"You have brought me…"

Christine's voice interrupted his search and drew his attention back to the stage. She was facing the audience once more, singing out to them while she shyly kept her back on her seducer.

"…to that moment where words runs dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears into silence…"

She briefly, only briefly, lifted her eyes up to Raoul's box, to see how he was reacting to all this.

"…silence…"

Did he know that it was Erik?

"I have come here,  
hardly knowing the reason why…"

Like her, Erik also lifted his eyes up to Box 5, however his gaze was not brief, nor did he intend it to be. He wanted to catch the Vicomte's gaze, to confirm his suspicions.

He wanted Raoul to know that he had failed at killing him.

"In my mind,  
I've already imagined  
our bodies entwining,  
defenseless and silent–"

Erik's eyes were drawn once more to the woman who was singing to him, the woman who was now becoming the seducer to his Don Juan.

"Now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided…"

She smiled, and nodded her head, her eyes reflecting unending love for the masked man before her.

"…decided…"

For the longest time, Raoul had been frozen in his seat.

No, it was not possible…it could NOT be possible!

And yet he knew it was, the second his eyes clashed with that dark amber gaze.

With one quick nod of his head in the direction of the managers, Raoul motioned for them to get one of the policemen in their box and be ready to shoot on his signal.

Below, Christine continued singing, and the audience remained enraptured, watching as both she and Don Juan began to climb their individual spiral staircases, leading up to a small, wooden bridge.

"Past the point of no return–  
no going back now:  
our passion play has now, at last, begun…"

Raoul clenched his teeth as he watched the way Christine sang to the Phantom.

"Past all thought of right or wrong–  
one final question:  
how long should we two wait, before we're one…?"

Something startled the Vicomte. Something wet against his cheek. He reached up to touch the wetness that he felt…and to his horror, realized it was his own tears!

"When will the blood begin to race?  
The sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames at last, consume us…?"

Erik felt his chest swell with such pride for his angel as she sang with all her passion, and boldly faced him as the two of them reached the top of their staircases, and began to walk towards one another across the wooden bridge, their voices joining together in song.

"Past the point of no return,  
the final threshold–"

The audience, and much of the company that watched from the wings, gasped as Don Juan passionately took Aminta into his arms, and twirled her around, until she was pressed tightly against him, his hands, covering hers, running across her body in a most arousing and erotic display.

"The bridge is crossed,  
so stand and watch it burn…"

Raoul swallowed the lump in his throat, and tried to look away, his eyes stinging with hateful tears at the sight before him, but found that he could not tear himself away from the passionate display on stage.

Softly, so softly, Erik and Christine sang their last few notes, still holding each other passionately.

"We've past the point of no return…"

The orchestra continued its playing, although Monsieur Gerard remained looking just as stunned as everyone else. The music slowly faded, and everyone held their breath, lost in the passion of the couple before them.

Raoul's fist shook as he brought it to his face, finally turning away, and letting his angry tears flow freely as the Phantom mocked him from on stage, holding the woman Raoul had longed to possess, against his grotesque body, running his filthy hands across her skin, over her curves, and into her hair. And Christine…she leaned against the broad body of the masked fiend, a content smile spread across her face as she felt the Phantom's hands caress her neck and move into her hair.

Damn them both!

A soft gasp went out from the audience, as suddenly, without the aid of music, Don Juan began to sing, oh so softly, but quite clearly, into Aminta's ear.

"Say you'll share with me one love…one lifetime…"

Christine was lost in the trance of Erik's voice, her eyes closed, her lips curved into a happy smile, a contented purr escaping her throat as she felt his strong fingers run across her chin, her cheeks, her neck…

"Lead me, save me from my solitude…"

Her eyes suddenly fluttered open as she realized the words he was singing.

Don Juan's love song to Aminta! The song that both she and Erik had composed together, the song that marked the different ending to the opera. He was singing it to her, stating his love, asking for her hand, once more, before all these people…

"Say you'll want me with you, here beside you…"

He took her hand in his and gently turned her to face him, as the passion in his voice erupted into a full crescendo. He was no longer Don Juan, but himself…singing to her.

"Anywhere you go, let me go too!"

Raoul watched in horror as the audience leaned forward just as Christine was leaning up, on the tips of her toes, her fingers rising to hold the Phantom's masked face, her lips parted, awaiting his kiss…

He couldn't take this anymore!

"Christine, that's all I ask of–"

Without a second thought, Raoul reached for the pistol in the holster of the policeman that occupied his box, leapt to his feet, and fired at the couple.

 


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown we've all been waiting for! (Long chapter, but it is epic!)

_**Crescendo** _

A scream went up from the auditorium as the sound of the gunshot echoed off the opera house walls.

The bullet had just missed them, but it had been too close to call.

Christine screamed and fell against Erik's chest, as he pushed her down and away from where the bullet had flown. Her hands had been on his face, and in her sudden panic, she clung to him, unsure of what was happening, not realizing that as he pushed her, she had ripped his mask off.

Another scream erupted from the auditorium, only this time it was in reaction to Erik's disfigured features being revealed.

It had only been mere seconds ago, when those same women who were now screaming in terror at seeing his mangled flesh, had been fanning themselves with desire to be seduced by his Don Juan.

How quickly people changed when masks were removed.

The police officer who had been standing in Box 5 was stunned by the whole display. He only just realized that it was his gun that the Vicomte had fired! He attempted to take the pistol back, but Raoul punched the man in the jaw, hard, causing him to stumble backwards. Satisfied that he would not be stopped further, Raoul leapt on top of his chair, prepared to fire again.

Only now, he got a good look at his enemy.

Both Raoul and Erik locked eyes once more, and for the first time in his life, Raoul felt nothing but genuine terror.

Erik glared back up at the Vicomte, despite the screams that echoed all around him. He held his arms out, wanting to give the terrified nobleman a good look at the man who was his greatest adversary, the man who Christine had given her love to.

And that was exactly what Raoul was doing.

He couldn't believe it! Never, never had he seen anything more grotesque! Never had he imagined such a sight, such a face!

And this…this monster…was the _thing_ Christine had willingly given her body to? Over _him_? What could this creature offer her that he couldn't!

The terror disappeared, replaced by blind hatred and rage. With another vengeful cry, Raoul lifted the pistol and clumsily fired the gun again, one shot after another.

Christine screamed as she felt the wooden bridge shake violently. One of Raoul's bullets had made contact with the ropes that held the bridge together. "Erik!" she cried, fear gripping her as the Vicomte continued to blindly fire the pistol.

Erik looked around him, his eyes falling onto a rope that hung near by, a rope that he knew connected to the opera house's grand chandelier. He looked at the crowds of people, some of them already rising from their chairs and moving away quickly due to Raoul's wild shooting. Off to his side, he saw several police officers point their firearms at him, shouting for him to stand down, to give himself up.

There was no other way.

Christine gasped as she felt Erik's strong grip grab hold of her, and pull her tightly against him. "Hold tight to me!" he shouted over the screams and the Vicomte's gunshots, and with a swish of his cloak, revealed his sword that hung from his belt.

Christine's eyes widened as she realized what he intended to do. She bit her lip and buried her face against his chest as her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and shoulders, the scream dying in her throat as she felt the bridge give way beneath her.

With one swipe, Erik's sword cut through the chandelier's rope, which not only caused the giant crystal jewel to tremble dangerously over the auditorium, but also revealed a hidden trap door beneath the stage and within the bridge itself. Gripping the now cut rope, the Phantom and his bride plummeted through the broken bridge, falling down through the hidden trap door.

Raoul's eyes were wild. He continued firing the pistol as they fell, cursing every time he missed.

Ubaldo Piangi suddenly stumbled out on stage, a large bruise purpling on the top of his head, his expression one of dazed confusion. "T-t-the Phantom!" he cried. "T-t-the Phantom is here! He struck me! The Phantom–"

A sickening gasp escaped Piangi's lungs as a sharp pain blasted through his chest. He looked down, and another scream filled the air as everyone realized that the tenor had been shot!

"The Vicomte de Chagny shot Signor Piangi!" shouted someone from the wings of the stage.

Firmin and Andre had been staring at the whole scene, frozen in place out of fear and confusion. Their wide eyes flew to the nobleman, their mouths open with shock at what had just happened.

Raoul on the other hand didn't look phased one bit. He cursed the tenor for getting in the way of his bullet, especially since it was his last one, and threw the gun out of the box before leaping down onto the stage.

Piangi gurgled a plea for help, before stumbling forward, falling to his knees, and collapsing in a pool of his own blood.

More people screamed, and Carlotta suddenly rushed out onto the stage, screaming and crying words in Italian as she fell before Piangi's body, weeping over the man who was perhaps her greatest admirer.

She turned and screamed obscenities at the Vicomte as he leapt onto the stage, but Raoul paid no attention, he simply leapt towards the trap door that the Phantom had produced, and dived inside before it could close.

With another violent shake, the chandelier plummeted towards the stage, and everyone screamed and stumbled over one another to get out of the way.

In the grand foyer, it was mass chaos. People everywhere were running, falling, and screaming as they pushed their way outside. Both Firmin and Andre watched in horror as the chandelier smashed right in front of the orchestra pit, Monsieur Gerard leaping away in mere seconds. "We're ruined…" Firmin gasped, as the chandelier's candles spilt over onto the oil lamps that aligned the stage, causing the entire surface to erupt in flames. "We're ruined Andre! RUINED!"

The fire quickly began to spread, and everyone was taking cover, running outdoors as fast as they could. Backstage, Madame Giry quickly began to shepherd the ballet girls out of the theater, stopping her daughter from attempting to pursue Erik and Christine. In the foyer, LeDue gathered his men together, ordering several of them to help get the crowds of people to safety, while ordering the others to follow him. Firmin and Andre stumbled out into the foyer, both blubbering about how this scandal would be impossible to recover from.

"You there!" LeDue shouted, his hands gripping the managers' shoulders. "Where would they possibly go!"

"G-g-go?" Andre stammered, looking confused. All he could think about was the money that was slipping through their fingers. "W-w-what are you talking about?"

LeDue groaned in irritation. "The Phantom!" he shouted. "Where do you think I could possibly find him!"

Both men looked at one another and shook their heads helplessly, not knowing how or where to capture the masked fiend. However, Firmin caught sight of the ballet mistress, who was busy hurrying her charges outside. "Her!" he shouted, pointing at Madame Giry. "She knows where to find the Phantom! She is connected to him somehow!"

Madame Giry's head snapped up when she realized that Firmin was shouting at her. Suddenly, several officers had her by the elbows, and were dragging her forward, towards Inspector LeDue. "Release me, you vermin!" she shouted, struggling against their grip.

"Madame Giry," LeDue greeted, although it was much more of a groan. "Tell us the whereabouts of the Phantom."

It wasn't a question, but Madame Giry refused to be intimidated. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"She's lying!" Andre accused. "You know she is! She's always one step ahead of us when it comes to the Phantom! She always knows his next move, she always knows whether he's delivered a message, and she certainly knows where to find him!"

Madame Giry glared at the younger manager, who immediately shrank from her cold stare. "Even if I did know where they had gone…which I don't," she emphasized icily, "it is not the Phantom you need to worry about! From what I saw, the true madman is the Vicomte de Chagny! The way he fired that pistol without any regard for the lives of others, and you all saw him kill Piangi!"

LeDue groaned, knowing she was right. The Vicomte's jealousy and anger had erupted into madness, and he had to stop the nobleman before he took more lives with his unstable rage. "If you can at least guess as to where the Phantom may have gone, we will at least know where to find the Vicomte," he attempted to reason. "Please Madame Giry, there's an innocent girl caught up in all this!"

Madame Giry sighed, knowing that the police could at least stop Raoul before he attempted to cause further damage. "I am telling you the truth when I say I do not know where they could have gone. Were it not for that explosion yesterday, he would have retreated back down into his realm, but there is nothing down there now but fallen rock and the lagoon."

LeDue's ears perked up at these words. "A lagoon?"

"Yes," Madame Giry confirmed…and then began to realize what the Chief Inspector was indicating. "A lagoon that feeds into the Seine…" she gasped.

"Come on," LeDue ordered to his men. "With any luck, we'll reach them before they come to the river."

Madame Giry's eyes widened with fear. "Wait! You can't go back down there! All the ways are blocked! Believe me, I've tried!" But her cries were in vain, as the officers abandoned her there, in search of the infamous Opera Ghost.

Had she truly helped Erik and Christine? Or had she simply sealed their fate?

 

* * *

 

Suzette sat huddled in her cage; her small arms attempting to keep the storm's chill off her body.

"I can't go back there…" murmured a voice from one shadowy corner of the cage. Suzette glanced up to see Jacque, groaning and rocking himself back and forth, his eyes glazed over in some sort of hypnotic state. "I can't go back there…"

"Jacque, we will be alright," Suzette attempted to soothe, rising from her place and going over to where the hook-handed man sat. "Look where we are! At the opera house! Surely the Master will save us."

Jacque continued rocking back and forth, as if he hadn't heard a word she had said. However, in the cage next to hers, both Gustave and Daae had heard everything, but their faces were not as hopeful as that of the little woman's.

"I felt that explosion," Daae sighed to Gustave. "It would take a miracle for anyone to survive it."

Gustave knew Daae was right; he remembered the gunpowder barrels that the gypsies were pouring through the tunnels before they dragged him away. But if his faith had taught him anything, it was to always believe in the possibility of miracles.

"What the hell!"

The four of them turned their attention from their cages as several of the gypsies who were guarding them, began to curse and gasp as suddenly, one of the windows of the opera house over head, burst open, the glass shattering like rain, before flames billowed forth.

A great gasp escaped the four caged prisoners as they watched window after window burst into flame, and suddenly, the night sky was interrupted with the sounds of screams, as patrons wildly fled the burning building.

"What's going on!" a gypsy demanded, looking to Ronaldi for an answer.

Ronaldi said nothing, only kept his eyes locked on the fire that burned in the windows above. As far as he was aware, this was not part of the Vicomte's elaborate plan.

"I don't like this," one gypsy grumbled. "Let's leave this place, now, we got what we wanted, why should we stay?"

Daae's face paled at the man's words. "No! No, you promised Christine that you would–"

"We ain't promised her anything!" the gypsy spat, before taking a stick and ramming it against the cages bars, just missing the old man's fingers. "And did you really think we would be giving up these monsters? Ha! That would be like throwing money away!"

Daae's eyes widened at the gypsy's words. "This…this was all a ruse…this was your plan all along!"

"Shut up," Ronaldi grumbled.

The old man became indignant. "No! I am tired of being told what to do by the likes of criminals like you!" he spat. "And was I a part of this ruse as well? After the wedding, was I going to be shipped off the asylum while you take your carnival someplace else!"

"I SAID SHUT–" Ronaldi's roar was lost in his throat, as a strangled cry went up from one of his men.

"W-w-what was that!"

"It came from over there!"

"Did you hear it?"

"Yes," Ronaldi growled, removing his dagger from his bootstrap. "And I have a good feeling as to whom–"

Another strangled cry broke the night air, and the whole of Ronaldi's men were looking about frantically, wondering where the mysterious threat was coming from.

"Master," Suzette breathed with relief. "It's the Master!"

"We shall see about that," Ronaldi growled, throwing open the door to Suzette's cage and grabbing the tiny woman from inside. "I AM YOUR MASTER NOW!" he bellowed at the woman, before gripping her by the neck and lifting her off the ground, her feet dangling and her body struggling as the silver-haired gypsy choked her.

"SUZETTE!" Gustave gasped, his giant fists gripping the cage's bars. "LET HER GO! PUT HER DOWN!"

Ronaldi ignored Gustave, and shouted into the storm-filled air. "SHOW YOURSELF, YOU MASKED FREAK! SHOW YOURSELF OR I'LL COUNT TO THREE…" he pulled the choking woman against his chest and thrust his dagger under her chin. "…AND I'LL SPILL HER BLOOD RIGHT HERE!"

Silence.

"ONE!"

Still, nothing, except the sounds of Gustave's protests.

"TWO!"

All the men, including Ronaldi, held their breath, waiting…waiting for the Phantom, the Half-Man, to make his appearance.

"YOU KILLED HER, NOT I!" Ronaldi shouted, before pressing the blade against Suzette's throat. "THR–"

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

The mighty roar came from over head, and before Ronaldi or any of the others knew what was happening, a giant figure landed on top of the older gypsy, knocking him down and causing him to release Suzette from her captivity.

"RUDOLPH!" Gustave shouted in dismay and gladness.

Daae gasped and pressed his cold, wet face, against the iron bars to see the hunchback throwing endless punches at the leader of the gypsy clan. "It is Rudolph! He's alive!"

"R-r-rudolph?" Jacque gasped, as if the name of the hunchback was enough to wake him from his trance.

Suzette was coughing and gasping for air after being released from Ronaldi's vice-like grip. She looked up from her hands and knees, and gasped with surprise and joy at the sight of Rudolph, her heroic rescuer. "RUDOLPH!" she cried in happiness, causing the hunchback to stop his punches on the groaning Ronaldi.

Suzette gave a glad cry, and Rudolph leapt off the gypsy to lift the tiny woman up off the ground, and hug her fiercely to him. "Oh Rudolph, that's twice I thought I had lost you!" she cried, her joyful tears covering the hunchback's face.

The other gypsies stood there in stunned silence, not believing what they were seeing.

Ronaldi rolled over onto his stomach, and gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as the pain coursed through his body from the attack. "Don't just stand there you idiots!" he shouted. "KILL THEM!"

Rudolph whirled around, quickly putting Suzette back down on the ground, his fists clenched, ready to fight his attackers as they charged at him.

"Let's get him men! Come on!" shouted one of the larger gypsies, but his words quickly disappeared into a groan of pain, after Gustave grabbed hold of the man's shirt collar, and slammed his head against the cage's bars, knocking the gypsy out cold.

"Nicely done," Daae grinned, being quick to grab the keys from the man's belt.

"Idiots!" Ronaldi groaned as he noticed Daae taking the keys and attempting to unlock the cage. "STOP HIM!"

Three of Ronaldi's men were fighting Rudolph, who was proving to be more of a torrential force than the storm itself! A man who had been standing near Jacque's cage, ran toward the other, his knife glimmering in the lightning light, threatening to slice at the old man's fingers, when he suddenly felt a wave of pain shoot through his lower back, and then at his thigh.

"It's time for you to learn some manners!" Suzette shouted, using the stick her captor had used to beat against her cage, as her own weapon to beat on him. "First lesson," she growled, "is don't poke at others!" Without warning, she slammed the stick against the man's groin, causing him to fall to his knees as a blubbering, painful cry, escaped his lips. "Second lesson," she hissed, before taking the stick and whacking the man against the side of his head, causing him to fall over, "is never underestimate the smallest of people."

"Well done, Suzette!" Gustave congratulated, as Daae finally got their cage door open. The old man quickly ran to Jacque's cage, while Gustave charged at the three gypsies who were fighting Rudolph. "Three against one is not the fairest of odds!" he roared, before attacking.

Ronaldi couldn't believe it. What the hell was happening! The monsters were revolting, the opera house was going up in flames, and the Vicomte was nowhere in sight! This could not be happening!

Gustave growled as he fought off one of the gypsies that had been fighting Rudolph. He could not run the way they could, but his massive arms helped him throw heavy punches. "It's time you learn some good Christian charity!" he spat, before slamming his fist so hard into the gypsy's jaw that the man flew backwards.

Suzette managed to use her stick to force one of Rudolph's attackers off him, and Daae took another stick, and hit the man hard over the head, causing him to crumple on the ground.

Rudolph growled as he struggled with the largest of Ronaldi's men, a burly man who tried to swipe at the hunchback's face with his dagger. "I'm gonna cut you like a fish, monster!" the man snarled with evil glee. "I'm going to skin you alive and mount your head on my wagon!"

Rudolph continued to struggle, his large hands gripping the man's wrist to keep him from using the dagger, but the man now had his other hand around the hunchback's neck, and was squeezing so tightly that Rudolph felt his skin begin to turn blue!

And then, moving so quickly that she only looked like a tiny black blur, the man let out a yowl of pain, as the kitten sank her teeth and claws into the skin of his hand, causing him to loosen his grip on Rudolph's throat, giving Rudolph enough time to slam his fist into the man's jaw, knocking him out cold.

"T-t-t-thanks Carmen," Rudolph panted down at the little kitten, which only responded with an affectionate purr.

The men that had recovered from the onslaught, quickly scrambled to their feet and rushed towards one of the wagons. "To hell with the Vicomte!" one of them cried. "Let's get out of here!"

Ronaldi stared in horror, shock, and most of all, anger, as his men abandoned him there, hurrying away like frightened children. "COWARDS!" the old gypsy shouted. "COME BACK HERE, YOU COWARDS!"

"It's over, Ronaldi," Suzette sighed, her small arms folding across her chest, as Rudolph, Daae, and Gustave stood around her, each glaring with anger at the silver-haired man. "Give yourself up."

Ronaldi stared at the little woman, his face blank. "Did I hear you correctly?" he asked, his voice containing a dangerous tone. "Were you giving me orders?"

"You've lost!" Gustave retorted. "Drop your dagger, now."

Ronaldi eyed his small mob of freaks, remembering how much trouble it had taken for him to reclaim them once more. "Alright," he sighed, letting go of the dagger. "But if you don't mind…" he quickly drew a pistol from the back of his belt. "I think I'll hold onto to this."

The others froze at the sight of the gun, their faces pale and their eyes focused entirely on the weapon.

"Now…you were saying?" Ronaldi asked Gustave once more. "Who is it that has lost?" A deep, menacing laugh, escaped his chest, as Ronaldi continued to keep the gun aimed at them. "It is truly a pity that it had to come to this," he sighed, after his laughter had died down. "I really believe that you all would have made me a great deal of money. But I can't afford rebellion," he cocked the pistol and turned it on Rudolph. "I think I'll start with the rebel rouser here."

"NO!" Suzette shouted, but instead of a gunshot being fired, a sick, gurgling sound could be heard coming from the old gypsy.

The others stared, as Ronaldi's trembling hand let go of the pistol, and watched in horror as blood trickled down from his mouth. "I…I…I u-u-underestimated…y-y-you…" the old man gasped to his unseen attacker.

"That you did," Jacque growled, pulling his bloody hook out from behind the man's back, before the old gypsy crumbled to the ground, dead.

A shaky sigh went up from the group, and Gustave, Rudolph, and Suzette, rushed forward to embrace Jacque, who happily welcomed the affection.

Daae smiled as he took in the small family, seeing no deformity, only love. But his own heart throbbed with worry as he turned his eyes back to the burning building overhead; what had become of Christine?

 

* * *

 

"Umph!" Christine gasped as she landed on top of Erik, after their sudden plummet through the stage.

Erik groaned, knowing that the landing had not been good for his ankle, and he felt a painful throbbing in his right shoulder. But all thoughts on pain disappeared, the second he felt Christine's lips rain joyous kisses all over his face. He couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, and opened his mouth to speak, but hers quickly covered it, and she kissed him with such intensity that it took his breath away.

"Christine–" he gasped between kisses. "Angel, we–"

"YOU'RE ALIVE!" Christine cried, her hands running over his face, her lips tracing the scars. "Oh Erik…" she wailed, her tears flowing over his skin. "I…I thought…I thought you were…"

"Sshh," he whispered, before holding her face tenderly to his, and drawing her mouth back down over his own. A blissful sigh escaped her throat as she kissed Erik back, so relieved, so happy, so–

Erik's hands gripped Christine's shoulders and he gently pushed her away, as he heard heavy footsteps in the distance. "Now is not the time for sweet reunions, my love," he whispered as he helped her to his feet.

The mirth that had been in Christine's eyes quickly vanished as she too heard the sounds of a small mob, only a short distance away. It was then that Christine truly took in the sight around her.

Both she and Erik had fallen into a mysterious looking chamber, like one of the many caverns that filled the underground labyrinth. Yet this one was smaller…and not made out of stone.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking at the blackened ground, her foot brushing over a strange sort of dust.

"A fire chamber," Erik murmured, his eyes scanning their surroundings, seeking out the trap door that lay hidden in the walls.

Christine's eyes went wide at his words. "Fire chamber!" she gasped. "Why on earth would the opera house need such a thing?"

"Some operas require a bonfire scene," he murmured as if it were common knowledge. "I had them install the chamber about fifteen years ago."

Christine did not like the idea of the two of them being trapped in some sort of giant cooking pan. The sooner they got out of there, the better.

"Here it is!" Erik cried out triumphantly. He immediately began to push his weight against a section of the chamber's wall, a section that began to move slowly on its own, revealing a small door.

Erik hissed as the pain shot through this arm, and he paused, clutching his shoulder while cursing the Vicomte's name.

"Erik? Erik what's wrong?" Christine asked, concern filling her eyes at the way his hand clutched his shoulder.

"Nothing," he growled, turning away from her and attempting to push at the door again.

"Erik, something's wrong with your shoulder, I can tell, I–" Erik cursed as Christine reached out to touch his shoulder, and she gasped in horror at the sight that greeted her. "Oh God! You're bleeding!"

"It's nothing," he grumbled, trying to brush her hands away.

"That is not nothing!" she retorted, biting her lip at the growing blood stain on his shirt. "Erik, you've been shot!"

"No," he shook his head. "The bullet grazed me, that is all. It's just scratch, really." He couldn't help but find himself smiling at the tender way Christine fussed over him. "I'm just lucky that the Vicomte is a lousy shot."

"Ah, but will you be lucky now?"

Christine's head snapped up from where she had been examining Erik's injury, her eyes widening with horror as Raoul emerged from the chamber's shadows, a sword glistening in the dim light that surrounded them.

Erik growled low and deep, and moved Christine behind him in a protective fashion.

"I must thank you…Erik, is it?" Raoul asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he approached them. "Your elaborate trap doors are quite clever, separating those that follow, causing them to fall into different rooms. Luckily for me, I landed in an old prop room," Raoul grinned, brandishing the sword towards them.

Erik said nothing; he only kept his eyes locked on that of his enemy, while one of his arms held Christine behind him, prepared to protect her at all costs.

Raoul found himself chuckling at the way Erik stared him down, and his eyes flew to Christine's pale pretty face, that hid behind the monster's shoulders. "And to think…this was my competition?"

Erik tilted his head to one side, studying his adversary carefully. "Insults have never helped men win battles," he murmured, low and even, his voice so calm and collected. "You know how to use that thing?" he asked, indicating the sword that Raoul was wielding.

Raoul felt his jaw clench at the Phantom's question. "I was the top of my class," he snarled, making a lunging motion towards his opponent, but Erik easily moved out of the way, pushing Christine with him.

Christine gasped at Raoul's sudden move, and bit her lip with apprehension. She had just found Erik…she could not lose him again!

Raoul grinned, and then lunged once more towards the Phantom, but once again, Erik easily moved away, his arms wrapping around Christine and twirling her, as if they were caught up in a dance. "Clever," Raoul murmured, shrugging his shoulders, before making another lunge. Christine shrieked at how close Raoul's sword had been, but felt Erik's strong, protective arms, once more move her out of harm's way.

By now the Vicomte's amusement was vanishing. "Are you going to be doing this all night?" he grumbled with irritation. "Put up your sword and fight!"

"Only when the time is necessary," Erik growled.

"Necessary?" Raoul asked, madness filling his eyes. "Is NOW a necessary time!" he cried, leaping forward and throwing his blade out towards the Phantom's chest, but Erik was prepared, and pushed Christine down to one side, before swirling around and countering Raoul's sword with his own blade.

Christine shrieked again as both men engaged in a heated sword fight; Raoul looking like a lunatic, flinging his sword madly at the Phantom, while Erik continued to counter each lunge, only furthering the Vicomte's rage.

"You see, unlike you, my dear monsieur," Erik hissed, as their blades met once more, sparks flying from their steel, "I was my own teacher, and never took one class my whole life." Raoul roared with anger as he attacked once more, aiming for Erik's throat, but Erik's sword caught the blade before making contact. Raoul's teeth were clenched as he pressed the sword against Erik's, his eyes wild with jealousy and hate. "Tell me," Erik asked. "How does it feel, knowing that you are being bested by someone with no formal training?"

"DAMN YOU!" Raoul shouted in the Phantom's face, but Erik's boot shot up and kicked the nobleman hard in the stomach, sending him backwards and hitting the wall on the other side of the chamber with a loud thud.

"Down here! I hear them down here!"

Christine's eyes flew to a far tunnel straight ahead, and in the distance, she could see the orange glow of torches, and hear those same heavy footsteps that she had heard only moments ago.

The mob was coming, and had found them!

She rushed to Erik's side, and gasped when she realized he was sloping against the wall, breathing heavily and hissing in pain. "Erik!" she gasped, her eyes widening with worry. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She had watched their sword fight so carefully; Raoul's blade never once made contact!

"My ankle," Erik groaned. "It was hurt in the explosion…and this," he indicated to the sword in his hand, "hasn't helped it."

"THERE THEY ARE!" shouted the voice of Monsieur Andre. Christine's eyes widened with horror as she saw the two managers and several police officers, carrying torches and loaded guns, heading right towards them.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" one of officers shouted, before calling over his shoulder, "INSPECTOR LEDUE! I FOUND THE PHANTOM! I FOUND HIM!"

"GO!" Erik hissed at Christine, pushing her through the opening of the secret door he had found. There was no time to close it, he simply grabbed her hand and fled down a dark corridor, being careful to avoid stumbling over fallen debris from the other day's explosion.

"AFTER THEM!" Firmin shouted. "DON'T LET THEM GET AWAY!"

Erik cursed as he heard the police follow, their voices and footsteps sounding far too close for his own liking.

Christine was worried too, although slightly more worried that Raoul could possibly be following them as well. Yes, Erik had kicked him away, causing the Vicomte to hit the wall, but she hadn't paid close enough attention to see whether he was conscious.

She had never seen a man look demonic in her entire life! The way his eyes flashed, the way he spoke, everything! Before he engaged in the sword fight, back when she and Erik were on stage, before Raoul started shooting at them; Christine remembered the frightening way he looked at her when she glanced up at him while Erik sang to her. Raoul's jealousy had completely driven him to madness.

"STAND DOWN! STAND DOWN I SAY!" shouted a voice behind them. Christine's scream filled the tunnel when the sound of a gun firing filled the void behind her. Erik roared a curse as the bullet flew just past them, and swirled his cloak around to envelope Christine, as if the fabric itself would shield her.

"STOP SHOOTING!" LeDue's voice barked. "You'll hit the girl! And I don't want any bullets ricocheting back at us!"

Erik pulled Christine to his left, and led her down another tunnel, cursing Ronaldi further for destroying all traps in the explosion. He was like a blind man, stumbling in a place that was unfamiliar. This wasn't his home anymore; the tunnels beneath the Paris Opera House had betrayed him, blocking off old exits, leaving him little choice as to where to turn next. "Erik?" Christine's voice was filled with fear and anxiety. She was looking to him to help them, depending on him to get them out of this…and he was completely lost.

"This way," he grunted, taking her arm and leading her once more down a different tunnel. "We can take the boat and escape out the river!" Christine nodded her head, and held her skirts tightly as the two of them broke into a run.

Rudolph had surveyed the area earlier, and told Erik that one of the boats had remained intact, even after the explosion. It was not the quickest way out of the opera house, but Erik had little choice. His home was now his prison, and he had to get them both out of there.

The tunnel grew wider and wider, and within seconds, they had finally reached the underground lagoon. Erik wasted no time with helping Christine down the small rocky cliff, and Christine gasped with horror as she finally saw the destruction that the explosion had caused to Erik's underground world.

Fallen rocks were everywhere, but also, she could see charred pieces of furniture, some floating in the lagoon. She caught sight of other items, each burnt or damaged beyond repair, such as Suzette's spinning wheel, Rudolph's books, and even Gustave's bible. "Hurry," Erik hissed, waking Christine from her trance. She quickly followed him to the boat and climbed in while he released its tether and picked up the oar to push them away from the shore.

"STOP!" shouted a voice overhead.

Both Erik and Christine looked up to see the same police officer who had shot at them earlier, now standing on the cliff overhead, his gun aimed at the boat. "YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!"

Firmin and Andre also appeared, each panting and gasping for breath, but each looking just as wild as Raoul. It was not jealousy that filled their eyes, but a need to extract vengeance from the Phantom's many threats. "Hurry!" Firmin cried. "You have a clear shot! Shoot him before he gets away!"

The officer looked at Firmin as if he were crazy. "Inspector LeDue said–"

"Oh HANG Inspector LeDue!" Andre muttered, grabbing the gun out of the officer's hands and firing at the boat.

Christine screamed as the sound of gunfire echoed throughout the cavern. Erik leapt down just in time; his body covering Christine's to shield her from the gun's bullets. His actions caused him to drop the oar into the water, but the lagoon's current was already pushing them towards the river.

"ARE YOU MAD!" the officer shouted, staring at Andre as if he were a madman.

"They're getting away!" Andre cried, aiming the gun once more.

The officer leapt at the gun, and soon the two men were wrestling for control. More officers arrived, and each looked confused at the strange fight between one of their colleagues and the younger opera house manager.

Firmin, who was still stunned by Andre's actions, quickly snapped out of it in order to throw orders at the newly arrived officers. "Don't just stand there gawking!" he shouted. "The Phantom! He's getting away! He's kidnapped Mademoiselle Daae! GET HIM!"

"How!" one of the men asked. "There aren't any more boats!"

"And if we shoot at him, we could risk hitting the girl!"

Firmin rolled his eyes. "Then jump in after them!"

"WHAT!" several shouted. "ARE YOU MAD!"

One of the younger officers, who was a little haughtier than the others, and who had a dire longing to prove himself brave, ran to the cliff's edge without a second thought, and leapt into the icy waters of the lagoon below.

Erik's head shot up at the splashing sound, and saw the young officer swimming towards them. As soon as the officer noticed that Erik was in sight, he paused his swimming and attempted to aim his gun at the Phantom's head.

Erik could not risk having the boat shot at. It was their only means of escape, and all that mattered was getting Christine to safety. They wouldn't shoot at her, they were only after him. Without another thought, Erik threw his cloak off, and dove over the boat's edge into the water.

"ERIK!" Christine shrieked, her hands clutching the edge of the boat. What was he doing! Had he gone mad! He was swimming out to meet the officer, who was looking stunned by the Phantom's actions.

"You want to shoot me now!" he roared at the officer, whose face had paled to a ghostly shade of white. The man lifted his gun, and Christine screamed, but before he could even pull the trigger, Erik dove under the water, only to come up right in the man's face, knocking the gun out his hands, and gripping the frightened, blubbering officer around the neck. "You want to see the Angel of Death?" he snarled, before dunking the frightened officer's head under the water.

Christine stared in horror at the scene before her, and screamed when she heard more gunshots. The officers who still remained on the cliff opened fire, shouting for Erik to release their friend. There was a great splashing sound, as two more officers dove into the lagoon's waters, and swam out to meet the Phantom.

Christine leaned over the boat and attempted to use her own hands to paddle back towards him, but the current was too strong, and was already carrying the boat further and further away. Erik released the man who he was originally fighting, and met his two new adversaries head on. They leapt atop him, and he threw them off, roaring and throwing punches, gulping air as they pushed him down, splashing and sputtering water everywhere.

The boat continued to drift. She couldn't see them! "ERIK!" she cried. "ERIK!"

He turned his head, and realized Christine was disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. He cursed as he felt one of the men leap onto his shoulders in another attempt to push him under the water. "GO ON!" he shouted, before disappearing under the water. He growled and used all his strength to push his attacker off. "GET OUT OF HERE! LEAVE ME!" he shouted once his head resurfaced. All that mattered was that she would be safe; they would not pursue her, and the current would carry her safely out of the opera house.

"ERIK!" Christine couldn't see him anymore, the boat had drifted down a dark tunnel and he had completely disappeared from sight. Her hands were still in the water, and she was still leaning over the edge of the boat, trying to paddle back, knowing that it was a lost cause.

Was he going to be all right? He was fighting three men in the water! They could drown him! He could drown them! And then Christine went numb as the sound of gunshots echoed down the tunnel…

"ERIK!" she screamed, fully prepared to leap into the water at that second and swim back to him, not caring what he said, only caring about him, only–

"HALT!"

Christine whirled her head around to the sound of the voice, and gasped when a torch's light was shoved close to her face.

"It's just the girl, Inspector," an officer announced, moving the torch away. Christine's eyes adjusted to the dim light in the darkness, and realized there was another small band of police officers, standing on a small embankment just inside the tunnel's entrance.

LeDue peered down at her while two officers moved into the water to bring the boat ashore. "I heard gunshots," he murmured with puzzlement. "Where is the Phantom?"

"Christine!"

Christine's eyes flew to the embankment and gasped when she saw Madame Giry push her way through the crowd of officers, not caring if her petticoats got wet, and meeting Christine halfway in the water, embracing the girl who broke down against her. "Get me a blanket!" she barked at the chief inspector, before tightening her hold around Christine's shivering form. "There, there, my dear. It's alright, you're safe now, you're safe."

Christine trembled and shook her head frantically from side to side. "No!" she wailed through the worried tears that covered her face. "Erik is back there! He was fighting three men, and…I…I heard gunshots!"

"We'll find him, I promise," Madame Giry murmured, running her hands through the young woman's hair, whispering soothing words into her ear.

LeDue sighed and handed the ballet mistress the blanket she had requested. "Mademoiselle," he began, his tone soft, but quite desperate for answers. "I need to know where he is."

Madame Giry growled at the chief inspector, her eyes cold, narrow slits of rage. "Can't you see the child is freezing?" she hissed. "Hasn't she been through enough this evening? Please!" she wrapped an arm around Christine's shoulders and began to lead her away from LeDue and his band of officers.

LeDue groaned, running his hands through his thinning hair; the woman could be damned irritable! "Mademoiselle, I saw everything!"

Christine paused her steps, and slowly turned her head to the chief inspector. "W-what do you mean?" she asked, wary of what this man was attempting to learn from her.

LeDue ignored the ballet mistress' cold stare and quietly approached Christine, keeping his voice low. "I came here tonight, because I feared a madman would attempt to sabotage the evening," he looked back in the direction Christine's boat had come. "And I was right…but not about the man."

Christine's eyes widened at the man's words; even Madame Giry seemed at a loss.

"Please…you must tell me where you saw him last; if I don't find him, more people may end up dead!"

Christine understood the chief inspector's concern, it would be the concern of any good policeman, but he and his men did not understand anything about Erik. All they saw was a man who wore mask to hide his scarred face, and that alone seemed to be enough to condemn him. She shook her head, feeling angry for the accusation that more people would die by his hands if she did not reveal where he was; both she and Erik had been shot at multiple times that night! "You can give that lecture to your own men," Christine hissed. "I can't believe you would even ask me such a thing; I know the evils that your men are capable of performing on men who look different. How do I know that you will not also treat Erik the same?"

LeDue's brow furrowed at Christine's words. "Erik?"

"Yes! Erik! That is his name," she grumbled, pulling the blanket up even tighter around her shoulders.

Now he understood. "No! No, mademoiselle, you misunderstand! I was not inquiring as to where you last saw the Phantom, I meant the Vicomte de Chagny."

Christine froze at LeDue's question. "Raoul?"

"Yes," he sighed. "In his attempts to shoot at you, he killed Signor Piangi."

Christine gasped, and her hand flew to cover her mouth. She had not known Ubaldo Piangi very long, and knew that the tenor despised her for taking the lead from Carlotta, but no man deserved to be shot in cold blood.

"Please," LeDue asked again. "The last I saw, the Vicomte dove in after both you and the Phantom. I had assumed that the two of you had encountered him."

Christine could almost laugh at the words LeDue used. Yes, indeed, they did "encounter" him. "He and Erik were fighting," she murmured. "The Vicomte had a sword, but Erik managed to kick him away…I…I don't know what became of him after that point…"

"Inspector! Inspector!"

All heads turned in the direction of the tunnel, where several officers emerged, a few of them soaked to the bone. "He's gone!" one shouted. "The Phantom is gone!"

Christine gasped and looked at Madame Giry. Erik was still alive? "What happened to him!" she frantically asked, pushing her way towards the men, desperate to know what had become of Erik.

"Well…we don't know, exactly," one admitted. "You see…he dove under the water…and never emerged."

Christine froze at the officer's words, and felt her knees suddenly go limp. Madame Giry quickly reached out for the girl to lean on, wrapping her arm around Christine's waist to keep her upright. "What do you mean he never emerged?" she demanded, desperate to learn the truth just as much as Christine…yet also dreading what it could be.

"We mean exactly that, Madame," one officer tried to explain. "He dove beneath the water, and when he hadn't emerged, we too dove down, but saw nothing...no body, no evidence of his presence…nothing! It was as if he had completely disappeared."

Christine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, gripping the blanket that she wore around her shoulders all the tighter. He was alive, she knew he was alive, he had to be; after everything they had gone through, both tonight and in the last few days: Erik was alive, she would not lose him again!

"I'm sure he's alright," Madame Giry murmured, leading Christine away from LeDue and his men. "Come, there is something you need to see…"

Christine mutely nodded her head, although she could not shake that sense of impending doom, nor the question that LeDue had asked her: what had happened to Raoul after they had fled that chamber? Was he still in there, hunting his enemy? Was Erik truly alright? His ankle was sprained, a bullet had grazed his shoulder, and after hearing all those other gunshots…

"CHRISTINE!"

Christine's head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice, a voice that she had not heard in what felt like ages…

"Rudolph?" she gasped, seeing the hunchback waving to her from a wagon in the distance. "RUDOLPH!" she shouted, throwing the blanket off her shoulders and running towards her friend, throwing her arms out and hugging him tight as he met her halfway. "Oh Rudolph!" she cried, "I thought…I thought…"

"We all did," Suzette answered, smiling at the happy reunion between Rudolph and Christine. "But as you can see, he is very much alive."

Christine gasped at the sight of Suzette, free from her chains, and then saw her father approach, while both Gustave and Jacque smiled from the wagon. "Y-y-you're free!" she stammered in surprise, happiness overwhelming her. "But…but how…?"

"Ronaldi is dead," Daae sighed. "Rudolph is the one who saved us," he explained with a smile. "He freed us, and frightened Ronaldi's men away."

"A-a-and Jacque s-s-saved me," Rudolph grinned. "R-r-r-ronaldi w-was going to s-shoot me…but Jacque s-s-saved me!"

Christine couldn't believe it; it was only yesterday that she had feared they were all dead, and yet, here they all were, safe and free! Ronaldi was no more, they would not to be taken prisoner and put on display, Erik could rest with ease from that…

But where was he?

"Christine?" Rudolph asked, looking at her with large nervous eyes. "W-w-where is the Master?"

"Yes!" Suzette gasped. "Rudolph explained that he is alive! That he went to save you…but where is he now?"

Christine bit her lip and glanced at Madame Giry nervously. Erik had to be alive, he just had to be! He knew the opera house better than anyone; he must have known what he was doing when he dove under the water. She kept reminding herself that the police never found a body, that it seemed that he had disappeared entirely. He must have escaped…but where to?

 

* * *

 

Erik burst out through the opening of the roof, gasping and coughing from the smoke that he had fought through. It was even worse that swimming through that dark water pipe which had been his only escape after the police had cornered him. The pipe emptied out into a sewage tunnel, which Erik took to lead him back towards the opera house, undetected.

The place was ablaze; all around him he could hear men shouting for more water as they fought the fire that raged on. The smoke was overwhelming, and Erik knew he needed to get out of there, but he also knew the police…or worse…would be waiting for him.

He needed to get out of the smoke, away from the flames, but he needed to be someplace where he could see, where he could understand what would be his next best chance for escape. He needed to know if Christine had made it safely outside, and whether Rudolph had been successful with freeing the others from Ronaldi and his men. The roof was the only possibility.

Overhead, a storm raged, helping to douse the flames that had burst through the windows. He let out a long shaky sigh and breathed in the cool clean air, feeling its freshness replenish and heal his lungs.

Despite the fact that he was already soaking, he lifted his head to the rain and ran his hands over his unmasked face, feeling the drops cleanse his body and soul from the evening's ordeal.

He leaned against one of the many gargoyles that adorned the roof, wincing at the pain in his leg, his shoulder, everywhere; his whole body ached. How he longed to be lying in a warm, dry bed, with Christine's smooth arms wrapped around him. He groaned and shifted his body so that he could continue to lean against the gargoyle, but also look out over the roof's ledge.

Below, he saw the fire brigade, working hard to put out what was left the opera house fire. Around them stood hundreds of people; company members, patrons, onlookers, and of course, police. He scanned the police carefully; they would most likely have been anticipating his escape by boat, and have Christine in their group.

His eyes found one of Ronaldi's wagons, but the gypsies were nowhere to be seen. He did however see Madame Giry, standing and talking with some unseen figures, who appeared to be hiding inside the wagon. The tiny figure of Suzette emerged then, and Erik felt a great weight lift off his shoulders; Rudolph had been successful!

"Your hunchback is clever," a voice dryly murmured behind him. Erik lifted his head, but kept his back to his enemy. "Perhaps you should have sent him to fight in your stead?"

Erik turned slowly as the lightning illuminated the sky, causing the scars on his face to look even more horrific than normal. "I do my own fighting," he growled.

"Good," Raoul replied. "THEN YOU CAN SHOW ME!" Without any warning, he lunged forward, his sword scraping stone has Erik moved away just in time.

Erik growled and drew his own sword forth, lunging towards the Vicomte, taking Raoul completely by surprise. "Come now, boy," Erik mocked as their swords clashed together. "Prove to me that you're more than a fop."

Raoul roared and lunged back at Erik, who continued to parry his every attack. Thunder shook the sky as their fight continued, swords clashing, fists flying, as the rain beat down upon them.

Down below, Inspector LeDue was reprimanding Firmin and Andre for the danger they could have inflicted upon his men, while a short distance away, Christine, with the help of Madame Giry and Meg, was tending to the wounds of her friends.

"So…you've known about these…" Meg glanced up at Rudolph, who was blushing as she dabbed at a bruise on his arm. "These…people…all along?" she questioned her mother.

Madame Giry sighed and simply nodded her head. "Why didn't you tell me?" Meg asked, a hurt look filling her eyes.

"Meg, it wasn't that I didn't trust you, I just believed that the fewer people who knew, the better–"

"LOOK!" shouted Andre, who was pointing up to the rooftops.

Everyone squinted as they looked up, not seeing anything through the rain and shadows, until a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky…and revealed two figures, fighting with one another.

"It's the Master!" Suzette gasped. Christine's hand flew to her mouth as she recognized Erik's figure.

"Good God!" Firmin gasped. "The Vicomte de Chagny! He's fighting the Phantom!"

For the longest moment, Christine sat there, frozen with fear, as she watched the man she loved passionately fight his greatest enemy. Sparks flew as their swords clashed, and despite the thunder overhead, a person could hear the curses they were throwing at one another.

Raoul continued attacking, his rage fueling his sword as he endlessly lunged forward. Erik would meet each of Raoul's attacks, countering them before lunging back. "It won't change anything," Erik growled, as their swords crossed, his face getting into Raoul's. "No matter how hard you fight…it won't change the fact that she rejected you."

Raoul roared and threw his fist out to catch Erik's jaw; Erik leaned away just in time to miss Raoul's fist, but was not fast enough to miss Raoul's boot, which had made contact with his torso and caused him to fall backward. Christine screamed as she saw Raoul lift his sword over his head to plunge into Erik's chest. But Erik was faster still, and kicked both his legs up, making contact with Raoul's stomach and knocking the Vicomte backwards.

"You do fight well, I will give you that," Erik grunted as he lifted himself up. "But you should have left when I spared you earlier.

Raoul coughed and wiped the blood from his lip, his green eyes blazing with hatred and fury. "I've bested you before," he growled, rising to his feet. "Or have you forgotten?" An evil grin spread across Raoul's handsome, bloody face, as he removed Erik's white half mask from the pocket of his jacket. "Here is my trophy to prove it."

A muscle twitched in Erik's neck as Raoul revealed his mask, the mask that he had lost the night he had attacked the Vicomte. It was a symbol of his shame for allowing the nobleman to get the best of him, to allowing his anger and foolishness to blind him. Raoul took immediate notice of Erik's reaction upon seeing the mask, and chuckled as he returned it to his pocket. "You want it?" he asked, opening his arms out in a welcoming fashion. "Come and take it then!"

Erik roared as he lunged forward, his sword clashing with Raoul's, sending a shower of sparks over the roof.

Christine couldn't take it anymore, she had to stop this! She picked up her skirts and bolted towards the opera house entrance, pushing her way past the crowd of people that stood, gaping at the scene upon the roof.

"CHRISTINE!" her father shouted as he realized what she was doing.

His cries were joined by Meg and Madame Giry, catching the attention of Inspector LeDue. "STOP THAT WOMAN!" he shouted to several of his men.

Christine's elbow shot up and hit one of the officers in the chin, causing the man to curse and spit blood all over the ground. Another officer moved to grab her, but Christine was faster, moving her feet in such a way that he only caught air, and then reaching out to grab the pistol from his holster. "STAY BACK!" she shouted, cocking the gun and aiming it directly at the small group of police that had moved in to stop her.

The officers froze as her shaky hands clutched the gun, each of them fearing that she may accidentally open fire. LeDue was stunned speechless, and the managers couldn't close their mouths. "Mademoiselle…" LeDue carefully murmured, taking a slow step towards her.

"STAY BACK!" Christine warned, aiming the pistol at the chief inspector while she slowly began to back her way towards the opera house.

"M-m-m-mademoiselle, w-w-what are you doing!" Firmin stammered.

"P-p-p-put t-the gun d-down," Andre whispered shakily, taking a step towards her.

Christine fired the gun at the ground in front of the younger manager, surprising herself, as well as everyone around her. Andre sank to his feet in a dead faint, and Firmin felt an uncomfortable wetness in his trousers.

"KEEP AWAY!" Christine shouted, the gun now aimed at LeDue, as she continued her assent up the stone steps.

LeDue and his men stood perfectly still, not moving one muscle as Christine finally turned and bolted up the steps, into the smoke filled opera house. "Follow her, carefully…" LeDue ordered once Christine was out of sight.

Erik had heard a gun firing down below, and then to his horror, had heard Daae shout his daughter's name. Had something happened to Christine?

Raoul grinned as he noticed Erik's sudden distraction, and without warning, lunged forward, burying his sword into the shoulder of his unsuspecting opponent.

Erik let out a roar of pain as he felt the sword's sting, especially after Raoul cruelly pulled the blade back. A great red stain began to spread under Erik's white shirt, and Erik limped away, clutching at his shoulder and muttering curses under his breath, while Raoul threw his head back and laughed. "So the ghost does bleed!" he chuckled, his eyes wild with evil amusement.

Erik growled and released his shoulder, both his hands clutching the hilt of his sword as he let out a battle cry and charged at the Vicomte. But now it was Raoul who parried Erik's every move, his laughter never ceasing, causing Erik's fury to blind him, and making him clumsy as he attacked.

Christine coughed as the smoke filled her lungs, but her pace never lessoned as she ran towards her dressing room. Once there, she fell to her knees, and immediately began to pry at every knob around the giant mirror's frame, pushing, pulling, twisting, whatever she could do, working her fingers raw in her attempts. "Come on, come on!" she hissed as she pried at the mirror.

Suddenly, she heard a click, as she pulled at the golden wing of one of the many cherubs that decorated the mirror's frame. She held onto the cherub's wing and pulled with all her might, causing the mirror to suddenly open, revealing to her an unknown tunnel to Erik's realm. She only prayed that she could find her way to the roof from it.

Meanwhile, the sword fight grew more and more intense, as Erik continued to attack with more and more fury. Raoul was not as quick as Erik was when it came to leaping away, but his arms remained strong and steady as he met each one of Erik's attacks, countering and parrying every movement of the Phantom's sword. "I'm going to see to it that all of your freakish friends are locked away in cages for the rest of their miserable lives!" he threatened. "Who knows? They may make a good profit! Perhaps I'll keep them on my estate and offer free admission for children?" he grinned as Erik growled, before countering his attack. "Yes, I like that idea…free admission for every child that throws a rock at that disfigured dwarf woman."

"BURN IN HELL!" Erik roared, lunging forward, his sword ready to be buried in the Vicomte's stomach, but Raoul's sword was faster, and slashed out at Erik's unscarred cheek, just missing his eye.

Erik stumbled back, his hand flying to where the sword had made contact. "Oh dear," Raoul sighed, mockingly. "It appears I have added another scar, and to your good side too…ah well, perhaps it is best that I finish where God left off."

Erik growled and lifted his sword, ready to attack, but Raoul's boot shot out, kicking Erik's injured leg and causing him to fall backwards, losing his grip on the sword. Before he could reach for it, Raoul's boot stomped on Erik's bad ankle, causing the Phantom to cry out in pain, and giving Raoul the opportunity to take Erik's sword.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Raoul sighed as he gazed down at his injured enemy. "Perhaps it was you, Monsieur Phantom, who should have left when you had the chance, hmm?" Erik snarled as he slowly sat up, very much aware that Raoul was holding both swords at his throat. "And as for that invitation to burn in hell, well…after you," he grinned, before lifting the swords to plummet them into the Phantom's chest.

_This is going to hurt_ , Erik thought regretfully, but without a moment's hesitation, threw his injured leg into the Vicomte's groin, causing Raoul to cry out in pain and stumble backwards, giving Erik enough time to roll away.

"DAMN YOU!" Raoul hissed, falling to his knees and biting curses to the wind, but never once releasing the two swords he held. He lifted his eyes then to glare at the Phantom…but gasped when the lightning revealed no trace of the man.

He quickly got to his feet and looked around wildly, trying to see where Erik had gone. The rain was falling even harder, washing away any traces of blood that may have given Raoul a clue as to where he could find his opponent. "COME OUT AND FIGHT!" Raoul shouted to the sky, but only the thunder responded.

"Come now…" he continued to jeer. "I promise to make your death quick and as painless as possible."

No response.

Raoul's amusement quickly faded, and he gripped the two swords even tighter as he began to search his surroundings. Where could the devil have gone! "You surprise me, Erik," he growled, using the Phantom's name as he slowly searched the gargoyles that loomed all around. "I thought you many things…murderer, madman…but never once, did I think you a coward!"

Still, nothing.

Raoul grinded his teeth as the fury began to take hold. "Did you love her?" he shouted against the wind's howl. "How sweet; a real-life 'beauty and the beast' fairytale," he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Amazing; you truly believed that she would love a _thing_ like you…when she could have a man like me!"

He whirled around when he heard a movement behind his shoulder. Raoul jumped when he realized he was only face to face with a hideous gargoyle. "Was she good in bed?" he snarled, knowing that his words would eventually bring the fiend out. "Tell me, Erik…how was she?" he grinned as he heard a growl off to his right. "Is she responsive? Does she mew when you touch her?" he moved ever more closely to the gargoyle where he heard the growl. "I do hope she likes it _rough_ ," he hissed, before leaping around the gargoyle and slashing his sword at…

…nothing.

Raoul let out a curse as he drew his sword back, his anger only kindling. "You're making this worse!" he shouted. "Let's finish this, now! I'll even throw down my sword!"

The clang of the sword's steel seemed to echo louder than thunder, as Raoul dropped the blade.

He waited, holding his breath, half expecting the disfigured fiend to leap down and pummel him, before taking the sword and slicing his throat.

But nothing happened. Only the sounds of the storm responded to Raoul's actions.

"YOU BRING THIS UPON YOURSELF!" Raoul shouted, his head turning in all directions. Something was moving in the shadows…

"I know all about your child!" the Vicomte taunted, his eyes following the shadow's movements. "You want to know what I was going to do, Erik?" he grinned. "I planned on destroying your seed–forcing Christine to get rid of the babe, if necessary…after all, I can't have a monster living in my house and bearing my name!"

The movement stopped, and Raoul's grin spread further. "But I've changed my mind," he hissed. "I've decided to raise the child as my own…" Raoul carefully gripped his other sword, prepared to defend any attack the Phantom may throw at him. "After all, isn't that the best way to triumph over one's enemy? Just imagine it Erik…if you have a son, I'll gladly raise him as my own…" he took several tentative steps towards the shadows, every muscle in his body tense and prepared. "Wouldn't you love to see that? Myself, raising your own son…to become just like me?"

The gunshot echoed in the night and Raoul threw a curse to the air when he felt the bullet just graze his ear. His wild green eyes flew to where the gun had been fired, and widened at the surprising sight of the small brunette, her hair clinging to her face, her arms shaking as they gripped the pistol, aimed directly at him.

"You will NEVER touch my child!" Christine swore, cocking the pistol once more, her eyes never leaving the Vicomte's face. "Now drop your sword!"

Raoul glared back at the young woman, but instead of following her orders, an evil grin spread across his demonically handsome features. "How sweet," he mocked. "The beauty comes to save her beast."

"DROP YOUR SWORD, RAOUL!" Christine screamed, her fingers gripping the pistol even tighter, fury raging in the blue depths of her eyes.

"Or you'll what, Christine?" he murmured, taking a step towards her. "Shoot me? Oh no…you do that, you'll be locked away for murder…and your precious demon spawn will be born inside a jail. And then you'll never see your Phantom–he'll be locked away in a cage, put on display once more. Is that what you want?"

Christine aimed the gun at Raoul's head, the fire of hatred blazing ever brighter in her eyes. "I'm warning you, Raoul…"

"Then what are you waiting for?" he growled, coming ever closer to her. "Do it then! Shoot me! Kill me! That's what you want, isn't it? PROVE IT TO ME THEN!"

Christine hated this man, and tried to keep her aim steady, despite the trembling in her arms. But his words were beginning to have their effect; would she be condemning both Erik and her child if she killed this horrible man? They were two innocents who depended upon her!

"I knew you couldn't do it," Raoul hissed, his body practically upon her.

Christine's anger flared, and not caring any further about anything other than saving Erik's life, and wiping Raoul's arrogant grin off his face, pulled the trigger back on the pistol…

Nothing.

Panic suddenly gripped Christine, and she pulled the trigger again, and again, and again!

Raoul reached out and grabbed her wrist, twisting it in such a manner that Christine let out a painful whimper, and dropped the pistol to the ground. "It helps when one has bullets," he growled, before grabbing her against his body, and lifting the sword to her throat.

Christine let out a shriek as the cold steel touched her skin, and her eyes searched desperately in the shadows for Erik's face, or at least his silhouette.

"Now…if you're not out by the time I count to five…I'll cut her throat right here!" Raoul shouted to the sky, his eyes flying around the darkness. "One–"

"Five," Erik finished, his fist slamming hard into Raoul's jaw as he came up from behind the Vicomte. The punch not only broke Raoul from his hold on Christine, but it also caused the Vicomte to drop his sword. " _NOW_ we finish this!" Erik snarled, before pummeling his fists into his enemy's face.

Christine covered her mouth as she watched the two men fight, each spitting blood with every punch. Erik grabbed hold of Raoul's body and bent the man so he could slam his knee into the Vicomte's stomach. Raoul gasped in pain, but only wrapped his arms around Erik's legs, wrestling the Phantom to the ground, before continuing to throw bloody punches upon his enemy.

Christine grabbed the sword that Raoul had dropped, prepared to use it to defend Erik's life, or at least to throw it to him should he need it. But right now, tossing Erik his sword was the least of her worries; the two men were fighting dangerously close to the edge of the building.

LeDue and his men were just emerging through the roof's entrance, their eyes locked on the fighting pair. One of the officers raised his gun, but LeDue's hand reached out to halt the officer. "No one fire unless I give the order!" the chief inspector barked.

Raoul and Erik were unaware of their audience; all they cared about was killing the other with their own bare hands!

Erik felt the stone crack under one of his feet, and he knew he was getting too close to the roof's ledge. One small gasp from Christine confirmed his suspicions, but he kept his focus entirely on the Vicomte; no doubt Raoul was all too aware that Erik was mere inches away from falling over the edge.

Raoul threw another punch, making contact with Erik's jaw, before throwing his foot out to trip his enemy. Christine let out a blood curdling scream, as did several people far below, as Erik almost lost his balance. The only thing that kept him from falling was Raoul's grip of Erik's shirt. "It's over, Phantom!" he spat in Erik's face. "Christine is _MINE_!"

Erik only roared, and grabbed hold of Raoul's own shirt collar, surprising the Vicomte greatly as he felt something slip around his neck, and his confident smile fading as he felt his own feet give way.

Christine's scream was deafening as the two men fell over the edge, and she quickly rushed forward, LeDue and his officers close behind.

Christine gripped the ledge of the roof as she stared in horror at the sight before her. Erik, dangling by one arm, was holding fast to a smaller stone gargoyle, while in his other arm, he held Raoul, who was coughing and choking, his fingers scraping at his neck, his face pale with fear as he looked up at Erik with pleading eyes. It was then that Christine realized that Raoul wore a strange looking noose, and Erik held the other end.

"P-p-please!" Raoul gasped, one of his arms reaching up and gripping at the arm to which Erik held him. "P-p-please! P-p-please d-d-don't d-do this!"

Erik growled at the Vicomte, and hissed as he felt the pain throb in his own muscles. He could feel his grip beginning to loosen from the gargoyle…

"Please!" Raoul choked out, feeling blood rising in his throat. "D-d-d-don't h-hurt me! P-p-please let me go! I d-d-don't w-want to die! Please!" he begged, his voice sounding so different from before. It wasn't the noose that had caused the difference; it was the true nature of the man.

He was, and had always been, a coward.

"I'll d-d-do anything! ANYTHING!" Raoul choked, sputtering blood all over his arms, as he released his hold on the noose, and only concentrated and pulling himself up from Erik's arm.

Despite the pain in both his arms, Erik continued to glare at the man who now dangled beneath him, the man who had attempted to rape Christine, who had locked away his family, who had threatened the life of his unborn child! This man was the cause of so much misery, not just for him, but for many all around! He deserved death, nothing simpler. And Erik deserved to be the one to end his life.

But now, as he looked down at this pathetic excuse for a man, Erik felt all his years of thirsting for vengeance drift away. He couldn't see her face, but he could hear her sobs, and Erik knew that despite his hatred for the nobleman, who now dangled at his mercy, Raoul's death no longer mattered.

He, the Phantom, the dark deformed villain of so many stories, had won.

And Raoul knew it.

What better vengeance could there be than Raoul having to live the rest of his days in shame, knowing that he had begged for mercy from the Phantom?

Raoul gasped in shock and frightened relief, as he felt Erik's grip tighten around the noose, and swing his blubbering form towards a tiny stone ledge, just on the other side of the small gargoyle that Erik grasped. With wide eyes, Raoul sat frozen as he felt Erik release the noose. "Get out of my opera house," the Phantom growled.

"Erik!" Christine finally cried, after holding her breath during the tense scene.

Erik lifted his eyes towards the sound of his beloved, and felt a smile spread across his face as her beauty filled his senses. Christine smiled despite her tears, and lowered her hands towards him, eager to pull him back over the roof's edge.

Erik nodded his head, now having two arms to lift himself back up, and one hand moving into one of Christine's outstretched arms–

The sound of Erik's painful roar, ripping through the heavens, shook Christine and caused her blood to run cold as the horrible sight of Raoul, removing a dagger from Erik's side, filled her senses.

Raoul laughed evilly as blood sprayed from the wound he had created. He lifted the knife again, prepared to drive into Erik's back, but his laughter, and his smile, quickly faded, as suddenly, he felt his balance slip from the wet ledge. Erik would have lost his grip as well, had not Christine reached out and grabbed him about the shoulders, and with the aid of several of LeDue's men, was able to pull him back safely.

The same could not be said for Raoul.

Raoul's terrified scream filled the night air as his feet slipped away entirely. Several screams erupted from the crowd down below, as Raoul's body fell through the air, before landing with a sickening thud, smashed on the opera house steps.

"Step back," LeDue commanded, as Christine pulled Erik's limp body away the roof's ledge, cradling him in her arms, her tears mixing with the rain as they fell upon his face.

His breathing was erratic, and his skin felt cold to her touch. She quickly laid him down on the roof, and ripped the hem off her costume, before moving it to cover the wound that Raoul's knife had left.

"C-c-christine…"

"Sshh," Christine whispered, fighting back the sobs that were trapped in her throat. She had to remain calm; she had to concentrate on helping Erik. "It's alright, I'm here," she whispered, biting her lip as he winced with pain from her applying pressure over the wound. "You're going to be alright," she promised.

"C-c-c-c-c-christine…" his voice was even more broken than before.

"Don't try to talk, Erik," she murmured, her fingers curling under his neck to lift his head off the wet stone. "Save your strength. I'll get you to a doctor, and then into a soft, warm bed, and–"

"I…" he gasped, coughing, feeling blood filling his throat. "C-c-christine…I…I…" lifted his fingers then to push away a wet strand of brown hair from her face. Christine held her breath as she felt Erik's soft, yet urgent touch, draw her mouth down to his, before softly, brushing his lips against hers. "I love you…" he finally rasped.

And then he went still.

Christine's eyes widened at the sudden stiff feeling of his body in her arms. LeDue and his men removed their caps, each sharing a sad and knowing expression.

Christine stared down at the man she held, his amber eyes closed, his skin growing paler by the second…

"Erik," she finally murmured, her hands softly shaking his shoulders. "Erik, open your eyes," she commanded, trying to hold back the rising panic. "Erik, open your eyes!" she demanded with more force.

He felt so cold, so…so lifeless…

"ERIK!" she shouted into his ear, the sobs escaping as she clung to his still body. "ERIK, PLEASE!" she buried her face against his shirt, crying hot tears over his cold body. "Please…please don't leave me," she sobbed. "Please…please come back, please stay with me, please…please…PLEASE!"

She wasn't even aware of the hands that were gently pulling her away from him. "Please Erik…don't go…stay with me, with our child…" she begged through the tears. "I love you…"

 


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of this journey...is only the beginning of another...

_**Finale** _

Stars.

There were stars falling, softly, all around him.

He was encased in this thick black void, but despite its constraints, he did not feel smothered. Instead, he stared in awe at the beauty that shimmered all around him. In the distance, he could hear music…the sweetest, most beautiful music ever composed, playing in time with the falling stars. It was as if he were lost in a dream, a strange, but beautiful dream: heaven, performing a concert just for him.

"Erik…"

He heard her call his name out of the darkness. It was faint, but her bell-like quality still rang clear over all the rising cords of the heavenly music.

The stars began to fade; it was only right, for they could not compare to his Christine.

"Erik…come back to me…"

There was a sadness in her voice, a longing despair, that he yearned to soothe. She sounded so faint, so distant, and yet, if he just reached out…he was sure he would be able to touch her.

The stars disappeared completely, but instead, soft, brown curls fell, tickling his face, smelling of sweet perfume, reminding him of silk.

He wanted to run his fingers through those curls, to feel them on his skin, against his chest, against his face, to see the playful, radiant blue eyes, that sparkled in their shadow.

He wanted to see her face, her sweet, young, beautiful face, that still possessed so much innocence, despite everything that she had been through. She was one of the strongest people he had ever known; a heroine out of a storybook. And she filled him with strength, making him feel more like a hero, than a villain. Helping him to believe that he could be so much more than just a beast that hid behind a mask…

The concert that heaven was giving him could wait. He needed his angel, he wanted her desperately, and he felt, deep in his heart, that she wanted and needed him too.

No, it was deeper than want or need; she loved him. And he loved her with his entire being; more than music itself.

"E-e-e-erik?" Christine stammered with surprise and joy as her beloved slowly began to open his eyes. A hand flew to her mouth to keep from sobbing, as joyous tears streamed down her cheeks at the wonderful sight of his amber eyes, focusing upon her face. "ERIK!" she cried, not being able to contain herself anymore, throwing her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, murmuring a never-ending prayer of thankfulness to God for bringing her love back to the world.

Erik groaned as a sharp pain throbbed in his side. He ached all over, every muscle, every joint, everything a person could imagine. But despite the pain that wracked his body, the feel of Christine's arms and her sweet tears, baptizing his skin with her love, made the pain wash away.

"I k-k-knew it…I k-knew it…" she sobbed against his chest, and Erik, wincing as he lifted his arm, let out a grateful sigh, as his fingers finally made contact with her silken brown strands.

"W-what did you know?" he murmured, despite the pain in his chest.

Christine lifted her tear-filled eyes, her smile brighter than anything he had ever seen. "I…I knew that…" she swallowed the emotional lump in her throat. "I knew that you would come back to me," she finally gasped, grinning and crying all at once.

Erik felt his heart swell at Christine's words, and he longed more than anything to have the strength to pull her into his embrace, and crush her against his body. "Christine…"

"Hush," she whispered, sitting up and wiping the tears from her face. "Don't talk, just rest…I will get the doctor."

Erik's brow furrowed at Christine's words, and it was then that he realized his surroundings. He was lying in a bed, one that was slightly warmer and softer than he had ever experienced. He also realized that under all the thick blankets that covered him, he was naked. There was a bulky bandage on his side, and his ankle felt even stiffer than before, but that was due to a heavy, and somewhat larger, split that he was wearing. There was a bandage over the arm where he had been stabbed, as well as shot at, and he felt a soft sting on his unscarred cheek, remembering how Raoul had slashed at his skin.

Raoul. The last thing he remembered was that villain stabbing him, quite literally in the back, after he chose to be merciful to the coward. The moments that followed that were hazy at best.

"W-w-wait," he gasped, reaching out for Christine.

Christine paused and returned to Erik, her fingers entwining with his. "I'm here," she whispered, squeezing his hand with affection as she knelt by his bedside.

"W-w-where…?"

"Madame Giry's," Christine confirmed. "Do you…do you remember anything?"

Erik shook his head, but his eyes told her he was desperate to understand.

"Raoul…he stabbed you," Christine explained, her hand squeezing his even tighter. She had come so close to losing him again. "But in his attempts to kill you, he lost his footing on the ledge…and fell to his death."

Raoul was dead? Erik could hardly believe it! His enemy of so many years…dead, just like that. But he did not feel any remorse, or regret for the fallen man; it was a fitting death for such a person, lacking all traces of honor.

"They…they found this on him…" Christine whispered, reaching over to the nightstand beside the bed, and placing Erik's white half-mask in his hands.

Erik looked down at the mask, the so-called trophy that the Vicomte had been keeping. It was his once more, and with shaky fingers, he carefully placed it back over his face, hiding his scars once more from the world around him.

Christine smiled down at him, knowing that it was important to Erik to wear his mask, even though she loved him and found him handsome. It had been so long since she had seen him wear the half-mask, and she had often wondered what had become of it. She would ask Erik later, but right now, all that mattered was that he healed properly.

"I…I t-thought you had died," she whispered, so softly, that Erik had to strain his ears to hear. "You looked…you looked so pale, a-and you were lying so still…a-and you felt so cold…" she bit her lip to control her emotions. "Inspector LeDue helped me carry you down, and we immediately took you here, to Madame Giry's, and summoned a doctor," she explained. "You were not dead, merely unconscious due to how much blood you had lost. But…had the doctor not arrived when he did–"

"Hush," Erik murmured, a finger sliding up over her lips. "I am alright…I had my angel to guide me back."

Christine let out a shaky sigh, fresh tears falling down her face, as she leaned forward to let her forehead rest against Erik's. "That's twice in one day that I believed you were dead," she gasped through the tears. "I never want to feel that pain again."

Erik lifted his hands to hold Christine's face, and his eyes bore deeply into hers. No words were spoken; none needed to be. He regretted causing her that pain, he regretted all the pain that she had felt, from kidnapping her father, to forcing her to leave, to the prejudice she received at the opera house, and to this. She had a right to hate him, and yet, when he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing but the most sincere love reflected in her blue depths.

Christine exhaled a long, shaky sigh, as Erik gently pulled her face down to his, and felt his lips softly, brush against hers. Little encouragement was needed, Christine instantly responded to the kiss, and felt her mouth sighing open, inviting Erik's tongue to taste her deeper.

A gasp from the doorway caused the couple to break the kiss, and Christine whirled around to see Suzette standing there, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes filling with happy tears as she stared at Erik with surprise. "M-m-master?" she gasped, her voice trembling. Then, before anything else was said, Suzette turned her head over her shoulder and shouted, "THE MASTER IS AWAKE! HE LIVES! THE MASTER IS AWAKE!"

A great trampling sound could be heard from all over the house, and suddenly, several heads were pushing inside the doorway, gasping and smiling at the sight of Erik, awake and sitting up.

"M-m-m-master!" Rudolph happily stammered. Gustave lifted his hands in thankful prayer, and even Jacque appeared to be smiling broadly, something Christine was not used to seeing.

Both Meg and Madame Giry were standing in the doorway as well, hugging one another and smiling happily at Christine, and Christine's smile only brightened as her father grinned back at her, feeling such joy for his daughter.

"Ahem!" the many bodies and faces suddenly moved apart as a large, bearded man, pushed his way inside the bedroom. "If you will excuse me, I have a patient to tend to," the doctor gruffly barked.

Christine planted a kiss to Erik's brow, before rising and giving his hand one last squeeze. "I shall be back soon," she promised, smiling from the doorway, feeling such relief fill her as Erik's eyes continued to hold hers, even after she shut the door.

He's alive! He will be fine!

Never, never had she felt such joy, such pure happiness in all her life. She immediately flew down the stairs from the bedroom, fully prepared to throw herself into cooking a pot of hot soup for Erik, when Madame Giry's cold voice interrupted her merriment.

"Christine, you should come here," the ballet mistress icily murmured from the parlor.

Christine immediately went to where the woman stood, and felt her insides freeze at the sight in front of her.

It was Inspector LeDue, with both Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre on either side. "Mademoiselle," the chief inspector greeted in a cold voice. "I am sorry to inform you of this…but I have come to arrest the man you call Erik; the Phantom of the Opera."

 

* * *

 

Rudolph bit his lip as he watched the scene before him from the safety of the keyhole in the room he was hiding in.

"What are they saying?" Jacque hissed, trying very hard to control his anxiety. He was not used to being around all these other people, and it was treading thinly on his nerves.

"Keep calm," Gustave whispered, as he put his ear to the door, trying very hard to listen.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" Madame Giry shouted at the chief inspector and the two opera managers.

"Madame, please," LeDue sighed. "I must arrest him–"

"ON WHAT GROUNDS!" the ballet mistress fumed.

"W-w-what grounds!" Andre sputtered in disbelief. "Murder, kidnapping, stealing, harassment, arson–"

Christine's eyes widened at Andre's words. "Are you blaming Erik for that fire?"

"He started it!" Firmin accused. "While you were falling through the stage, your Phantom cut the rope of the chandelier, nearly killing everyone in that room!"

"But he didn't," Madame Giry hissed.

"IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING!" Firmin roared at the woman. "Had he not cut that rope, the chandelier wouldn't have fallen, and the opera house would not have gone up in flames!"

"So you're saying that Christine and Erik should have just stayed where they were and risked being shot by the Vicomte!"

Andre glared at the ballet mistress. "You should have a little more respect for the dead, madam. That man was a genius! He helped make the Paris Opera House one of the finest in all of Europe!"

"No, Erik was the one that made the Paris Opera House great! And the man you speak so highly about, was a murderer!" Madame Giry retorted. "Or was I wrong in seeing him shoot Signor Piangi?"

Andre paled at the woman's words. "It was an accident! The Vicomte did not mean to shoot Signor Piangi, he simply…well, that is to say–"

"So if the Vicomte begins to madly shoot at someone, and 'accidentally' kills someone else, it's alright…but if Erik cuts the chandelier to escape, and 'accidentally' starts a fire…it's arson?"

"YOU ARE TWISTING MY WORDS, MADAME!" Andre shouted.

"AND YOU ARE AN IDIOT!" Madame Giry retorted.

"PLEASE!" LeDue barked, bringing all attention back to him. "I am well aware of the damage that the Vicomte de Chagny has committed. And were he still alive today…I would be arresting him as well," he added, his eyes boring into those of the ballet mistress. "The point, however, is that the Phantom, who we now know exists and is indeed human, has committed many crimes over the last few decades! Several people have gone missing, and several bodies have been discovered, each with a mysterious rope wrapped around their necks–"

"He was not killing them in cold blood!" Christine defended, lifting her chin high. "Erik never killed unless he had no other choice."

LeDue cocked a gray brow at Christine's words. "Truly? So if he sent a note to Monsieur Gerard," he indicated to an old piece of parchment in his hand, "that stated if he didn't replace the third trombone, the man would wish he were dead, you would say that this was a murder of…necessity?"

Christine paled slightly, but Madame Giry was quick to answer. "That man was not murdered," she groaned. "Erik frightened him, that is all, forcing him to quit. Ask Gerard, he will tell you the truth! The day after he received that note, the man announced his leaving, and was never seen from again. But he certainly was not murdered by the Phantom."

Both Andre and Firmin paled slightly, trying to think of another accusation. "The truth is," Madame Giry continued. "Erik has only killed three or four men since he has come to live at the opera house."

"B-b-but the stories said–"

"Those are ghost stories spread by stagehands and ballerinas, Monsieur Firmin," Madame Giry groaned. "A ghost story would not be as frightening if not exaggerated."

LeDue narrowed his eyes with suspicion. "So he only killed three or four men; it wouldn't matter if he had killed twenty, it's still murder, Madame Giry!"

"N-n-no!"

Everyone in the room gasped when Rudolph suddenly burst into the parlor from the side room he and the others had been hiding. Jacque was cursing and sputtering at being revealed, and Gustave and Suzette looked both frantic, as well as cautious, as they peeked out from their hiding place.

"Good God!" Firmin gasped at the sight of the hunchback. Andre simply whimpered and hid behind his partner.

"T-t-t-the Master o-only k-killed t-t-those men t-to protect us!" Rudolph defended. "T-t-t-those men invaded o-our home…a-a-a-and t-the Master c-c-couldn't risk h-having them t-tell others…s-s-s-so, h-he did w-what he had to…f-f-for us!"

Christine stepped forward and took Rudolph's giant hand in hers. "These are human beings, just like you and I, Inspector. And yet for much of their lives, they were put in cages and treated worse than animals! Erik vowed to them all to never allow that to happen to them again."

Rudolph smiled down at Christine and then turned his eyes back to LeDue. "I know t-t-that m-murder is w-wrong," he murmured. "B-but h-he d-did it for us…to k-keep us safe…s-s-so if you're going to a-a-arrest him…t-t-then you n-need to arrest me, too."

"No!" gasped Meg, who was standing off to the side with Daae. Rudolph looked at the pretty dancer and felt his cheeks grow redder.

LeDue sighed and shook his head. "I will not be arresting…" he looked at Rudolph and swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, "you," he murmured. "But what you say is true…murder is wrong, and for that, as well as for many other crimes that the Phantom has committed, I must arrest him!"

"Why?"

Everyone turned to the voice that spoke up from the other side of the room. "Papa?" Christine whispered, confusion filling her eyes from her father's question.

"Monsieur Daae, I must say, you of all people surprise me. After raving about your daughter being kidnapped by the Phantom, I would think you would wish to see justice done more than anyone!"

Daae lifted his chin, his eyes staying focused on LeDue's. "You are right, inspector, I do wish to see justice done…and I want you to look into my daughter's eyes, and tell her how long you had me prisoner."

LeDue suddenly went stiff at the old man's words. A deftly silence fell over the room, and even Andre and Firmin looked confused. "Yes…" Madame Giry murmured, turning towards LeDue. "Do tell us all, how long was Monsieur Daae your prisoner?"

"I…I…that is…" he swallowed the growing lump in his throat and did his best to keep his eyes adverted from all the people around him, especially those of Christine's. "I have a duty to this city! A man raving about a monster would naturally be considered a threat to society. What I did is no different than what others would have done!"

"Perhaps, but if I was considered a madman, then why was I kept in jail?" Daae inquired, his eyes never leaving LeDue's.

"Well, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that…" LeDue muttered, although he seemed to be delaying with giving it.

"You never told my daughter how long I was kept in prison," Daae reminded.

"I don't have to tell your daughter anything!" the chief inspector barked. "And I am not here to answer your silly questions; I am here to arrest–"

"Nearly six months, Christine," her father answered. "From the night we were parted, to the night you found me, I was kept in that jail."

Christine stared at her father, and then at the chief inspector. She knew from what Madame Giry had told her, that Erik had learned of her father's whereabouts the same night she had; but she had no idea her father had been in jail for so long.

"After I realized the Vicomte was no gentleman…" Daae continued, "I began to question why he was always seen at the police station. Madame Giry saw him there, my daughter saw him there, it seemed he was spending more and more time there, than at the opera house itself."

The managers turned to LeDue, waiting for an explanation from everyone. The chief inspector looked more and more uncomfortable under all the stares.

"Then my daughter told me how she offered to pay well over 300 franks in gold for my release." A large gasp went up from the two managers, and LeDue's face paled even further. "In the end, it was the Vicomte de Chagny who paid for my release, but not because he wished to do so out of the goodness of his heart, but because your station refused to accept the money she offered, telling her it wasn't enough."

"That's right," Christine added, remembering the day very clearly. "I remember being shocked by the news, thinking it was more than enough…and later, my father told me that indeed it was! That I had been cheated out of my money."

"Of course, Christine hadn't been cheated, the Vicomte had. Yet why would he continue to do so much business with you, unless of course, he hadn't been cheated...and it was simply a ruse to fool my daughter..."

LeDue stomped his foot, tired of all this second guessing. "Why don't you just say what you're trying to say, Daae," he growled in exasperation.

The old man smiled and softly nodded his head. "I think that if you believed I was as much of a madman as you claim, that I had to be taken off the streets, then I should have been thrown into an asylum. However, I wasn't; and I know that it can be costly, keeping a prisoner for as long as you did, in that place." Daae lifted his own blue eyes to meet LeDue's, which were blinking rapidly out of nervousness. "I think that you were doing business with the Vicomte de Chagny…and that you were accepting bribes from him in order to keep me there."

LeDue let out a sudden, wild laugh, as if trying to make everyone doubt what Daae was saying. "C-c-can you believe the words coming out of his mouth?" he gasped between laughs, looking at all the faces around him. Sadly, no one else was seeing the humor of the situation.

"I can believe it," Madame Giry stepped forward. "Whenever I entered that place, I was always met with disdain from your officers, as if they were desperately trying to keep something from me."

"Oh come now!" LeDue defended. "Why would I want to keep a harmless old man–"

"But I thought you said I was a 'madman that needed to be kept off the streets'?"

"Shut up, Daae!" the chief inspector barked.

Rudolph stepped forward, growling at LeDue. "Y-y-you d-d-don't talk to Christine's f-f-father t-that way," he warned.

LeDue eyed the hunchback warily. "Y-you're lucky I don't arrest you, mademoiselle," he murmured to Christine. "Harboring criminals–"

"Harboring criminals?" Christine spat in outrage. "I followed the law and paid for Rudolph's release! And the only crime he is guilty of is defending himself when your men attempted to beat him like a dog!"

LeDue opened his mouth to respond, but found that there was nothing he could say in his defense. "You are avoiding the topic, Inspector," Daae commented. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you were not taking bribes from the Vicomte."

"Good God," Firmin gasped, a sudden realization coming to him.

"What?" Andre asked, his head spinning from all the secrets.

The older manager looked at LeDue in horror, before turning to his partner. "I think it's best that we leave–"

"You are going nowhere, my dear messieurs," Madame Giry hissed, coming to stand between the managers and the doorway. "At least, not until you share with us your startling revelation."

Rudolph took a menacing step towards the two trembling men, and in a matter of seconds, their stone-cold resolve vanished.

"The Vicomte mentioned he could bring Christine back to the opera house!"

"He said he knew how to draw her out!"

"He kept referring to Christine as the bait for his trap!"

"We didn't know he was using Daae, we swear!"

Madame Giry groaned and began rubbing her temples as the two men continued talking at once. Yet it was enough for everyone; Raoul's evil plans had been revealed at last.

"Mama, are you implying that the Vicomte de Chagny knew Monsieur Daae was in prison, and bribed Inspector LeDue to keep him there, until Christine made another appearance?" Meg asked, trying to put all the puzzle pieces together.

"I think that is exactly what Monsieur Daae and I are thinking…and I think that is exactly what happened, am I wrong Inspector?" Madame Giry asked, lifting a dark brow in question.

The chief inspector shifted his weight uncomfortably and found himself staring at the ground, unable to look at the others around him.

"I think the chief inspector's silence is more than enough proof," Daae muttered with disgust.

"B-b-but the explosion!" Andre gasped. "The Phantom sent us a note, promising a disaster! Surely that gives us grounds to arrest him–"

"Raoul was behind that explosion, not Erik!" Christine defended, glaring at the younger manager for even suggesting such a thing.

Andre glared back. "I have his note, right here," he retorted, waving the piece of paper in the air.

However, LeDue snatched the letter right out of the younger manager's hands, and began to read it. "This is the Vicomte's handwriting," he murmured with surprise.

"WHAT?" Firmin and Andre gasped together.

"He's right," Madame Giry added, while looking over the chief inspector's shoulder. "This is not Erik's handwriting…and the seal is not his either."

"Exactly," Christine confirmed. "The gypsies from that carnival kidnapped Erik's friends, and then poured gun powder everywhere. They revealed it all to me the night I was brought back to the opera house."

Daae nodded his head. "So the Vicomte staged that explosion, blaming it on the Phantom, while at the same time, plotting with both the managers, and the police, all an extremely elaborate way to kill Erik…and defile my daughter." His eyes bore into those of the chief inspector, growing bright with anger. "And you helped him!"

"Now see here!" LeDue argued, although his voice was extremely weak. "None of that changes the fact that the Phantom is under arrest–"

"Oh it changes everything very much," Daae muttered. "You wish to arrest a man that you didn't believe existed for past crimes that your men didn't even bother to investigate properly. And after all that you've done to me, to my family," he wrapped a protective arm around Christine's shoulders, "you come here, talking about justice?"

LeDue was speechless. And Daae, was right.

"I think what would be best is that we forget these incidents," Madame Giry sighed. "We will not say anything to the papers about your corruption…if you do not arrest Erik."

LeDue was stunned speechless. He glanced at the two managers, whose mouths were hanging open with surprise. They had been defeated, and the only way to escape this scandal with any sort of dignity was to agree. "Very well," he muttered. "He is free."

A joyous gasp escaped from the side room where the others remained, and even Jacque looked happily amazed. Christine grinned and hugged Rudolph close, before turning and hugging her father. Meg happily hugged her mother, and Madame Giry politely opened the door. "I trust that you gentlemen can see yourselves out?"

The managers grumbled, and Inspector LeDue quickly followed, not looking back once.

It was over. Truly, Erik, and his friends, had nothing more to fear. The danger had past.

"Ahem!"

All heads turned to see the doctor coming down the steps, still looking quite gruff, but also slightly more relaxed. "He is healing faster than most men I have treated, especially for someone with wounds such as his. I would not suggest that he get out of bed for at least a few more days; the stitches are still quite delicate, and no doubt he will have a fever before fully recovering. I suggest a week of bed rest, just to be safe."

Madame Giry nodded her head and thanked the doctor before showing him out. Christine, however, was already climbing the steps, taking two at a time, eager to once more see Erik and be by his side.

There was so much to talk about; so much to plan! But first, she just wanted to take comfort with him by her side, to tend him and care for him. The danger had past; the shadows could finally lift for good.

 

* * *

 

"A week!" he gasped, when Christine told him the news.

Christine was kneeling by the side of his bed, her small hands curled up inside his larger ones. Every now and then, she'd run her cheek across his knuckles, an action that squeezed at Erik's heart, although right now, the only emotion he was feeling was annoyance from the doctor's instructions.

"I can't stay in bed for a whole week!" he grumbled.

"It will do you some good," Christine murmured, placing a kiss on his hand. "The rest will help you regain your strength, and your ankle will heal so much better with you being off it."

Erik made a face, reminding Christine of a spoiled child, and she bit her lip so as not to laugh. However, Erik saw the amusement in her eyes and glared back. "Is something funny?"

Try as she might, Christine could not help it, and a giggle escaped her lips. Erik fumed and pouted, while her giggles grew more and more. "I'm glad my injuries amuse you so much," he muttered.

"Oh Erik…" she gasped between giggles. "Y-you know t-t-that's not true," she took several deep breaths to calm herself. "It's just…we've done this before," she grinned. "And I think…that was when we began to fall in love."

Erik's annoyance melted at Christine's words, and her amused grin melted into a tender smile, before leaning her cheek forward, once more, to rest against Erik's hand. It seemed so long ago, but they both remembered the time she had brought him back to the opera house, and how they fought while she stitched up his wounds.

Yes, Erik smiled to himself. Perhaps that was the moment when things between them began to change for the better?

"I will need something to do," Erik sighed, his body leaning back against the pillows in defeat. "I simply can not just…lie here, all day and all night."

Christine grinned and kissed his hand once more before rising to her feet. "I shall fetch you some parchment, some ink, and a pen, and when you run out from your composing, I will gladly get you some more." However, the second the words had left her lips, Christine's grin faded. "Erik? What's wrong?"

Erik looked away, and Christine saw the way his jaw was clenched, as if fighting some overwhelming emotion. "Erik?" she whispered, a sense of worry coming over her. "Erik, what is it? What's wrong–"

"EVERYTHING!" he roared, his amber eyes glowing with rage. "I'M IN CONSTANT PAIN, I CAN'T GET OUT OF BED, I HAVE NO HOME, MY MUSIC IS GONE, I HAVE NOTHING LEFT!" He collapsed back against his pillows, groaning as the pain throbbed throughout his body, and then lifted his eyes up to Christine, who was trembling from his shouts. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I…I did not mean to yell at you, I'm sorry Christine."

Christine knew his anger was not directed at her, but she felt his sorrow and his anger for losing the world he had spent so much of his life building.

"Twenty years," he whispered. "Nearly twenty years of music…gone."

Christine took a step towards the bed. "The paper may be gone Erik, but the music still lives," she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his chest. "In here, and in your mind."

Erik shook his head. "It's more than the music Christine, it's everything! All my possessions, all of Rudolph's books, Suzette's dresses, everything! I have nothing left."

Christine shook her head and knelt down once more beside him. "You have me," she whispered, before moving his hand to her belly. "You have our baby, and you have Gustave, Suzette, Rudolph, Jacque–"

"But I have nothing to provide for you!" he interrupted, his eyes filled with a sadness that pained him even more than his wounds. "Don't you understand Christine? I have nothing to give you…nothing to help raise our child, nothing to help my friends. All the money I once had, the money I was going to use to buy us a home…it's gone." He released a sigh of defeat before turning his head away from her. "Raoul may be dead…but he has still managed to proclaim some small victory over me."

Christine shook her head, feeling cold tears trickle down her cheeks. Erik could not give up! Not now! He needed to have hope; he needed to believe that everything would be all right. She opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"I beg your pardon…" Daae whispered, poking his head inside the door. "But…Christine, there is a matter of great importance that I need to speak with you about."

Christine turned to look at Erik, but he continued to gaze out the window, as if he hadn't even acknowledged the fact that her father had just spoken to them. Reluctantly, she released his hand, and followed her father out into the hall.

The look at her father's face caused Christine's heart to skip a beat. "Papa…what's wrong?" Her mind began to run wild with horrible images. _LeDue has returned; he has found some way to arrest Erik!_

"A messenger just arrived," he began, taking his daughter's hands in his.

_Not Inspector LeDue, but a messenger who has come on his behalf to warn them!_

"He had been traveling for several days, trying to find us…or, rather, trying to find you."

_Oh God, is this another trick of Raoul's? Has the man created a back-up plan, in case he failed?_

"The messenger brought greetings from the house of the late Marquis Clamont."

All of Christine's suspicions flew away at her father's words. "The Marquis Clamont?" Why did that name sound familiar? Why would anyone from a noble household be looking for her? "I don't understand…"

Daae sighed and brought Christine over to a set of chairs, urging her to sit down before he continued. "The Marquis Clamont was your grandfather, Christine. He was your mother's father."

Christine gasped, the realization suddenly dawning on her. That was why the name was so familiar! Yet why would the man who was responsible for taking away the Daae farm, bother with sending a messenger to find her? "What was the message he had come to bring me?" After all these years of rejecting her existence, Christine had no intention of reconciling with the old nobleman.

"The Marquis Clamont died, two days ago," Daae murmured, his eyes watching Christine's intently.

Christine bit her lip, feeling a small stab of guilt for thinking ill of the man. She nodded her head, asking her father to continue.

"And…it appears, he was the last of the Clamont's. His wife had died a few years ago, and all of his children were dead. Yet the Marquis never changed his will…"

Christine's eyes narrowed at her father's words. "Papa…?"

Daae sighed and gripped his daughter's hands tightly. "Christine…you are the Marquis Clamont's only living descendent. And because he never changed his will…you inherit everything."

Christine blinked several times before the weight of her father's words finally sank over her. "W-w-what?"

Her father's eyes were lighting up with happiness. "Christine, you're an heiress! You have inherited the entire Clamont fortune, and their country estate!"

It was a good thing she was sitting down, for Christine did not think her legs would be able to hold her. Her mother's snobbish, uncaring family, who had done so much to make her and her father's life miserable, had somehow left their entire fortune…to her.

"Christine?" she realized that her father had been saying her name and turned to him, her surprise still evident. "Well?" he grinned. "What do you think?"

"I…I…" Christine took a deep breath. "I…I don't know if…if I want it."

Daae's face sank slightly at her words. "Not want it? Christine…this is more money than…than either of us can imagine! You will never want for anything again! You can live comfortably, just as I have always wished for you," his hand lifted to caress her cheek. "You can have the life I have always wished I could give to you."

Christine shook her head. "Papa, that money, that house, those things belonged to the people that treated us horribly!" she slowly stood up and turned her back on her father. "I don't know if I want to have anything to do with it."

Daae sighed and rose to gently touch his daughter's shoulders. "Christine, I know what you are saying. And I won't deny that a part of me is proud to hear you say those things. But my dear," he slowly turned her to face him. "There is a thin line between stubbornness…and foolishness. Do not allow your pride to push you in the wrong direction."

He released her shoulders then and walked away, leaving Christine alone with her thoughts.

Some time later, she gently knocked on Erik's door, her hands full with parchment, ink, and several quill pens that Madame Giry kept. She heard no sound, and slowly opened the door. Perhaps he was sleeping? Instead, she found him exactly as how she had left him, staring out the window, his jaw set, and his face grim. Quietly, she shut the door behind her and softly approached the bed. "I brought you some parchment, should you wish to compose," she whispered.

Nothing.

She sighed with a slight hint of annoyance. This attitude was going to get old very quickly. "Erik–"

"Thank you, Christine," he whispered. "But I do not feel like composing now. In fact, I wish to be left alone, if you don't mind."

Christine folded her arms across her chest and stood her ground. "I do mind, actually."

Erik finally turned and shifted his gaze upon her. "I am not in the mood for jokes or games, Christine–"

"Nor I!" Christine replied, before settling herself down on a nearby chair. "And trust me, this is no joke or game."

Erik groaned as he attempted to sit up more, his eyes never leaving hers. "Something on your mind, my dear?" he asked, his words cut short.

"Several things, actually," she replied. "I know that you've lost so much…and for that, I truly pity you–"

"I don't want your pity!" he barked.

"Too bad!" she retorted, feeling the fire in her spirit rise again. "I know how it feels to lose everything! After my mother died…I felt so lost. And then her family took our farm out from under my father and me, without any warning, and suddenly…our entire world, was gone, just like that."

She took a deep breath, and reached for his hand, grateful that he did not pull away. "Erik…I am trying to say that I understand how it feels. Yes, it is a hopeless, horrible feeling. And it is different for everyone…but it can be better! You simply have to want it to be–"

"You're right, it is different," Erik interrupted, his eyes gazing at their entwined fingers. "Christine…I want to provide you a home, a comfortable living, for both you and our child! I have promised to take care of the others, and I will continue to do that, but…with what? I can't do any of those things! I have no music to sell, no possessions to pawn, I have nothing!"

"But we have each other," she implored, leaving the chair and kneeling beside the bed. "And together, we can help one another."

Erik gazed deeply into her blue eyes and saw such love, such dedication, more than he possibly deserved. She was right, he knew that, and he knew he should be thanking God from the bottom of his heart for bringing them together, but it hurt, knowing that he could not take proper care of her, of their baby, the way he had wanted to.

"Erik…" Christine softly murmured, realization suddenly coming upon her. "There is a way for us to live comfortably…giving us the time we need for you to be able compose again, and to provide for the others…"

Erik's eyes narrowed with confusion. What did she mean exactly?

"I have just received word, that my mother's father, the Marquis Clamont…has died. And has left me his fortune, as well as his country estate."

Erik's eyes widened at the revelation of her words. Christine was now a rich woman!

"Don't you see?" she continued. "The estate will be ours! We can move in immediately, and there will be plenty of room for the others! They will not have to live in fear of being suspected or detected, the estate is remote, and–"

"You are a rich woman, Christine Daae," he whispered.

Christine frowned slightly; it felt so odd, saying that. Her father had called her an heiress, but Erik's words were more to the point. Yes, she was a rich woman now–but it was money that did not just belong to her. It also belonged to her father, to Erik, to their friends, to their child–

"And you can do much better than a disfigured, homeless, composer."

Christine blinked at the words that Erik had just whispered. Had she heard him correctly? "W-w-what?"

Erik sighed and turned his head away from her once more. "I am happy for you, and for your father. You deserve this, truly…" he softly murmured. "But a woman with such a fortune deserves a man who can–OW!" he cursed as a great wave of pain shook his chest. He turned his head then to see Christine, glaring at him, her eyes filled with tears and anger, and before he could prepare himself, she hit him across the chest again.

"HOW DARE YOU!" she hissed at him, before hitting him again. "HOW DARE YOU SAY SUCH THINGS TO ME!"

Erik caught her wrists before she could hit him again, to which she struggled against his grip, before crumpling in a crying heap against him.

Erik felt a new pain in his chest, although he knew what it was. Christine did not protest as she felt Erik's injured, yet strong arms, wrap around her, and pull her up completely onto the bed. She curled herself against him, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her face buried against his body, as the tears ran over his skin. "Please…" he whispered, running his hands over her cheek. "Please, angel…please don't cry."

"Erik…Erik you promised…" she sobbed against him. "You p-p-promised to n-never f-f-force me away again!" She rose up then, and hit his chest again, although this time, Erik was prepared…and felt it was rightly deserved.

"You are right," he groaned, after her recent attack. "You are right…and I am an idiot for even thinking such things, let alone saying them," his hands reached to hold her face, marveling at the strength and spirit this woman possessed. Truly, this, and her sweet nature, was what made her beautiful. "Forgive me, Christine? Forgive your foolish Phantom?"

Christine felt a smile slowly break forth across her tear-stained face. "Only if…if you can f-forgive me, for…for hitting you," she murmured, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"It was rightly deserved," he whispered, smiling up at her before coaxing her body to lie back down against him. Christine snuggled against his warmth and wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling as she felt Erik's warm arms hold her close, and his fingers run through her hair. "An estate, you say?" he asked.

Christine nodded. "Yes, I am not sure where exactly, but Papa seems to know. From what he has briefly told me, it is remote…"

"Good," Erik whispered. "That will make it easier for the others, I think."

Christine shifted slightly, so that she could look into Erik's eyes. "What are you saying, Erik?"

"I'm saying," he sighed, "that there is a thin line between stubbornness and foolishness…and sometimes, one's pride can lead a person down the wrong path."

Christine froze as her father's words tumbled out of her beloved's mouth. And then a grin began to spread across her face, before laughter bubbled up and out of her throat. "Indeed…" she giggled, grinning all the more as Erik stared at her with wonder. "Indeed…it can."

"You will never cease to amaze me," he murmured in awe, feeling a grin begin to spread on his own face as he watched her laugh. He then reached for her left hand, and brought it to his lips, before holding it over his heart. The laughter in Christine's throat died away and her eyes locked with Erik's.

"Christine…this is twice now when I can not kneel before you as I ask this…but I hope you will still accept, despite the lack of romantic formality–"

Any other words were cut off as Christine's mouth covered his in a passionate, loving kiss, her fingers tenderly holding his masked face, as her joyful tears ran from her cheeks down onto his.

"Yes," she murmured against his lips, grinning as she felt his arms wrap around her, and slowly, roll her over onto her back. "Careful," she giggled. "The doctor advised that you do not do any 'rigorous' activity, for fear of breaking your stitches."

Erik growled and stopped her from giggling as he kissed her even deeper, his tongue seeking hers and dancing with it, relishing in the sweet sigh that escaped from her throat. "I have always considered myself a fast healer," he growled, before kissing her throat. "And I have every intention of being fully healed before the week is over."

Christine giggled as she caught her breath at last. "What happens then?"

"Then," Erik growled, leaning his head against hers, and lifting his eyebrows suggestively. "Then, I shall take my angel as my wife."

Christine grinned and offered her mouth once more to her Angel of Music. "I eagerly look forward to it."

 

* * *

 

Exactly four days later, as promised, Erik was out of bed, and walking perfectly well on his own two feet. His wounds had remarkably healed, so remarkably that even the doctor could not explain it.

Madame Giry was wary at first of letting Erik out, but after encouragement from the doctor, and after seeing Erik's own eagerness to break free from his "sheeted cage", she agreed, and helped the couple begin their plans.

Just as twilight had fallen over Paris, Madame Giry's carriage, as well as the black carriage from the opera house, carried the large group to the château that once belonged to the Marquis Clamont, and had now been passed down to Christine.

The ride, while long, was on a good road, and by the time darkness had enveloped the earth, they reached the stately country manor.

The house was indeed large, with more rooms than Christine would know what to do with. The land that surrounded the château was even larger, with fields to work, as well as vast forests, beautiful gardens, and even a hedge maze! A tiny stone chapel lay at one end of the property, and a small white barn lay at the other.

There were few servants; many of had left after the Marquis's death, and those that had stayed seemed calm and quiet, and did not say anything once seeing Suzette, Rudolph, Gustave, and a very reluctant Jacque. They were shocked, that could not be denied, but they kept their surprise entirely in their eyes, something that Erik found most agreeable, especially after they looked away from him, after noticing his mask. So long as they offered loyal service, and did not question their new Master's mask, he saw no reason as to why they could not stay.

The house was entirely furnished, and much to Erik's happy surprise, there was a beautiful music room just down the hall from the master bedroom. A beautiful pianoforte sat in one corner, and Erik smiled as he ran his fingers across the keys to find that the instrument was still in tune.

Indeed, it seemed truly perfect.

The next day was a very busy day. Daae, with the help of Jacque and Rudolph, moved what little possessions he and Christine had into the château. Meanwhile, Gustave happily learned that the monastery where he grew up was only ten miles north, and immediately set out to reunite with the monks there. As for Christine, she spent the day with Meg, Madame Giry, and Suzette, blushing and pacing with anxiety while the three women attempted to fit a beautiful white gown on her, giggling as she nervously fussed.

Erik spent the day in solitude, feeling rather grateful for it. His life had already changed in so many ways, but tonight…tonight it would change forever.

Finally, dusk came to the château, and Christine, with the aid of Suzette, set out for the tiny stone chapel, taking in deep breaths with every step, clutching the bouquet of spring flowers that Meg had picked for her, to her breast.

The chapel doors opened, and soft organ music began to play. The servants were gathered inside, and quickly rose to their feet as Christine entered the chapel. Her father, standing proudly, smiling and crying at the same time, took her arm and led her down the aisle, as Suzette carried her train. Jacque, Gustave, and Rudolph, stood on one side, while Meg and Madame Giry stood on the other. In the center, an old monk stood, smiling as Christine approached…and next to him, dressed handsomely in black trousers, a crisp, white linen shirt, a red and gold vest, and a black waistcoat and cravat, stood her future husband.

Erik's breath caught in his throat as Christine descended the aisle. The white gown she wore was simple in decoration, but perhaps the most beautiful gown he had ever seen. It truly surpassed both the ivory gown and the gold gown she wore to the masquerade ball. Small bits of lace lined the hem and the bodice, and a soft, lacy veil covered her face. Christine smiled as she reached the alter, and let out her own shaky breath, as she felt Erik's arm take hers from her father.

The priest began the service, leading both the couple, and the congregation, in prayer, before beginning the wedding vows. Christine swallowed the emotional lump in her throat as Erik held her gloved hands in his, looking deeply into her eyes, as he recited his vows to her…and Erik felt his heart skip a beat while he listened to Christine's sweet vows to him.

The priest poured a cup of wine, and offered them the sacrament of Holy Communion, before taking the ring that Erik had provided, and urging the masked man to place it on her finger after reciting a blessing over it.

Christine felt a few tears slip down her cheeks as she felt Erik's hand slip the ring down her finger, and she sighed a thankful prayer as the priest murmured a blessing upon them both.

The only moment that had caused the slightest bit of worry was when the priest asked for Erik's surname.

Erik, having never known anything about his history, did not know if he even had a surname. However, he offered an answer, before he even realized what had tumbled past his lips. "Garnier". He found himself smiling after realizing what he had said.

Fitting, to be named after the great architect who designed the place that had been his only true home for so many years.

Christine found herself smiling at the name as well, and squeezed Erik's hand lovingly, as the priest murmured the final blessing, before announcing them as husband and wife.

Erik wasted no time with lifting Christine's veil, and to the applause of their friends and family, took his bride's face in his hands, and kissed her deeply, telling her with all his heart how deeply he loved her, and how lost he would have been had she not stumbled into his life.

And while his face remained unchanged and deformed, Erik truly felt like a prince; one of Christine's dark, gothic, romantic heroes. Indeed, her love had broken the icy spell that had fallen over his heart, and had turned this masked beast…into a man.

 


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well gang, this is it! It's been a fun ride, and I'm so happy so many people have been enjoying this story; Phantom's Beauty is my baby, being my first POTO fan fic. Thank you to everyone for their support and encouragment, for all the fans who followed this story over on Aria, and who continue to tell me that they love it, to all the new fans from FanFic, who have been so wonderful. I deeply cherish all your reviews and letters, and I truly hope that you enjoy this final enstallment. You guys are the best! Every author should be blessed with readers like you! Thank you again...and without further ado...

_**Encore** _

_**an epilogue** _

_**Christine's Diary, Summer, 1882** _

_It has been five months since our marriage. And so much has happened…_

_Everything is well with the baby; the doctor recently examined me, and says that I am in excellent health, and should deliver a healthy child in the Fall. I must admit, while I am nervous, I am also very excited. I have been thinking of names recently, writing down those that I like, and sometimes crossing them out later after more careful thought. I still have a few months before I need to come to a decision, which I am most grateful for._

_We have all settled here very well, I am happy to say. During our first months here, I feared that Inspector LeDue would go back on his word, and attempt to arrest Erik. But thankfully, we have not seen nor heard from the chief inspector or any of his men._

_I now understand why Raoul was so persistent on pursuing my hand in marriage. The papers made his death sound more tragic than it was, and his actions far more heroic than he deserved, but they also revealed that he had many outstanding gambling debts, as well as many unpaid loans that his own estate would barely cover. Apparently he knew about my relationship to the Marquis Clamont, and had planned on using the money passed down to me to pay off his debts, and live in the lap of luxury._

_Well, he would have been sorely upset then. While we are living quite comfortably, more comfortably than I have ever dreamed, the money is not as great as Raoul would have liked. Papa quickly learned that the Marquis and his family had many unpaid debts and loans as well, especially to poor farming tenants that shared the land. I am happy to say, that we have quickly set things to right._

_As for my dear friends, they seem happier than ever before. Suzette has taken to her role as housekeeper like a fish to water; despite her small size, it is easy to see who truly rules this manor. None of the other servants dare cross her path or question her decisions, at least not without careful consideration as to what may happen if they do. Truly, I always knew she was a queen, and now, she has made it a reality._

_Gustave visits often from the monastery. I am so happy for him, to be reunited with his dear friends from so long ago. It was hard at first, especially for Jacque it seemed, when he made his decision to stay at the monastery and take full orders, but thankfully, he visits at least once a week, to conduct services in our small chapel here on the grounds, as well as stay for Sunday dinner._

_Jacque continues to fascinate me. Out of all of Erik's friends, he is still the one I know the least about, and I remember how once I feared he and I would never get along. I would not say that we are close friends, but we do have a mutual respect, and I never doubt his loyalty. His fear of the world beyond the labyrinth of the opera house has almost disappeared. He is still wary, especially if an unknown carriage approaches the château, but he no longer feels the need to hide. He seems to be finally accepting that this is a safe haven, that the dreaded carnival will not snatch him away. I truly hope that he and I will get to know one another better._

_And Rudolph, dear Rudolph; he perhaps loves this place more than anyone else._

_While he has his own bedroom here in the house, it is not uncommon to discover that he has spent the entire night in the barn, despite the many reprimands he receives from Suzette. He loves being with the animals, and has made it his own responsibility to take care of them, as well as work with them to tend the fields. I think Papa sees Rudolph as the son he never had, and takes great pleasure in teaching him farming techniques._

_As for the other servants, I am proud that they have grown accustomed to our little family. Not once do I see them staring or gawking, and they never, never, ask questions in regards to Erik's mask. It is a silent understanding that he seems to keep with the household. I understand his feelings and do not push him on the subject; he wears the mask wherever he goes, except for our bedroom. He will at least agree with me on that._

_Madame Giry and Meg often come to visit, something that I am very grateful for. My friendship with Meg has continued to grow, and I often find myself thinking of her as a dear sister. I know my mother would have adored her, as well as find a kindred friend in Madame Giry. And I have also noticed the way Rudolph appears whenever he hears that Meg is coming. When she greets him, he blushes so brightly, one may think him a tomato! However, despite his obvious feelings, he seems sadly determined that what happened between Erik and me, will never happen to him. I wish I knew how to give him hope…_

_When Madame Giry and Meg arrive, we find ourselves spending long hours in the gardens, laughing and talking…and I am not proud when I say that it seems I have taken a taste for Parisian gossip. Naturally, I know very little about aristocracy of Paris, but the gossip they bring comes from opera house itself, and what gossip they brought today!_

_Carlotta has decided to leave Paris, believing there is nothing here left for her. I would have assumed she'd travel back to Venice, or go to those other opera houses that she always bragged about, but no, she has gone somewhere else entirely!_

_It seems, that Carlotta has had her fill with Europe, and will be traveling overseas, to become the new diva at an opera house in…New York._

_Apparently they have been in demand for European singers, and once word reached them about her fame, they were more than happy to accept her to their company. I only hope they are prepared for the tempest they are about to receive._

_Indeed, many changes have been going on at the opera house. It was only a month ago that Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin announced that they were quitting their positions, and leaving the opera business for good. You cannot imagine Erik's good humor when he heard this. Apparently, the two men were in, what Madame Giry calls, the 'junk business', and have decided to go back. Little else was said, but I think it is safe to say that after the ordeal at the opera house involving 'Don Juan Triumphant', the two men had had enough._

_Speaking of Don Juan, that reminds me! Madame Giry told me how despite the fire and the pandemonium caused by Raoul's shooting rampage, the opera was well received! Many critics, who chose to continue writing reviews after that chaotic night, found the music to be extremely modern…perhaps too modern for their liking, but found the story riveting, and many commented on the amazing 'transformation' of Don Juan, at the end of the Act III. The opera has received so much acclaim, that once the Paris Opera House is restored, critics are begging that it be performed again! And already, several letters have been sent to the opera house from other theaters across Europe, begging for the opportunity to have it performed on their stages as well. It appears Raoul was right about something; scandals do sell tickets._

_The damage done to the opera house was indeed great, but not as horrid as it could have been. There are hopes that its repairs will be completed before the year is over. Yet even though the opera house is currently closed for repair, this does not mean that business has come to a stand still. Indeed, there has been much discussion as to what shall be done once its doors open again._

_After Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre announced their retirement, the first question on everyone's lips was 'who will take over the managers' positions?'_

_That was the night Papa surprised me._

_At dinner, he tapped his glass and rose to his feet, a proud, broad smile spreading across his face. After much thought, consideration, and discussion with Erik, he has chosen to join Monsieur Gerard, the conductor, as the Paris Opera House's new managers._

_I was shocked by this news. My father, who had come to Paris nearly a year ago, with hopes to simply play in their orchestra, is now one of its managers. I couldn't be happier for him._

_Erik is very happy too; he now truly believes that his opera house will be left in good hands, and Papa respects Erik's thoughts on music, and often, after dinner, the two of them disappear into the library to discuss music, the opera schedule, and share their insights on how certain works should be performed. I am glad at how both Papa and Erik have grown to respect and understand each other. Papa truly sees that Erik is not the same man he met almost a year ago, and Erik is now much more open to listening to other people's opinions._

_Oh, Erik._

_It amazes me with how my life has changed. It wasn't very long ago that I felt my life was reserved for country living, that my dreams of singing would never come true. And then, I was in Paris, and shortly after arriving…I met the man who is now my husband._

_I almost laugh when I think about how much we despised one another when we first met. But little by little…I came to realize that Erik was no heartless beast, but truly, the man of my dreams. I often find myself calling him my 'Angel of Music', but he constantly says that I am his angel, saving him from eternal darkness, and bringing light, and love, into his life._

_Erik spends much of his day locked away in his music room, composing whatever comes to mind. Many of the works that were lost in the explosion have been rewritten, including 'Don Juan Triumphant'. I am happy to say that Erik has now, permanently, included the ending that both he and I composed together._

_Papa has gone over many of Erik's compositions, and has shown them to Monsieur Gerard. Both he and Papa wish to perform several of Erik's works, and Erik has also sent several other copies of music to other opera houses and symphony halls across Europe. I am so happy for him._

_He often says that I will never cease to amaze him; well, he always amazes me. Despite the many hours of work he puts into his music, Erik still insists on instructing me to sing. We spend much of the morning rehearsing, and at least an hour composing music together. I am no musical genius, but I dearly love how Erik values my thoughts and opinions._

_At first, I wondered why he wished to continue teaching me. I did not mind it, in fact, I love it, it has become a favorite part of my day. But then Erik told me, one night before going to bed, how he was working on a new opera…and would love to see me perform the lead._

_I was stunned. I am still stunned! It is my decision of course, and he understands that, but he does believe, and encourages, that I consider returning to the stage after the baby is born. Well…I confess, while I am anticipating the birth of our child, I am also eager for the day when I can return to Paris, and sing upon that stage once more! Amazing really; I hated being there when I thought Erik was dead, but remembering how it felt, knowing he was watching, singing my heart to him, wanting to please him…_

_I can't help it; I am greedy for that feeling again! And I anticipate the opportunity to sing once more._

"Christine?"

Christine paused the writing in her journal and turned from her small writing desk to where her husband lay, smiling at the look he was giving her as he stretched himself out, a thin sheet covering the lower half of his body, while his broad, muscled chest, lay exposed, leaving little to the imagination.

"Come to bed," he softly commanded, his voice deep and seductive, sending chills down her spine.

"In a minute," she promised, grinning as he let out a frustrated growl.

_Indeed, Erik never ceases to amaze me. And I find myself thanking God every night, and every morning, for bringing him into my life. My dark Phantom–my masked prince._

Christine gasped as the journal was pulled out from under her hands. "Erik!" she squeaked, her face turning a bright shade of pink. "Give that back!"

"Your masked prince, hmm?"

"ERIK!"

His grin was wide, and his laughter rich, as she pounded her small fists against his chest, before he put the journal back down on the desk, and wrapped his arms around his wife, dipping her into a passionate kiss.

"Now my dear…will you come to bed?"

Christine blushed as she felt her husband's arousal growing against her body. He was completely naked, while she still wore her robe.

"I look and feel like a heifer," she sighed, glancing at her large reflection in the mirror across the room.

Erik wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hands falling across her belly. "You have never looked more beautiful," he whispered in her ear, before his lips began to play with the lobe.

Christine purred and leaned in to his touch, and gasped as she felt his hands climbing inside her robe to play with her large, swollen breasts. "You are incorrigible," she whimpered, arching her body to his touch.

"And you, my sweet wife, are extremely desirable," he growled, before swooping her up into his arms and carrying her to the bed. Christine snuggled her head against his shoulder, still amazed that after all the weight she had gained from her pregnancy, he was still able to make her feel as light and as delicate as a princess from a fairytale.

Erik happily opened her robe completely, growling with satisfaction as he gazed at his wife's beautiful full body. He lowered his head then, to plant a soft, gentle kiss, on her swollen belly, before placing a loving hand over it. "Good night, my son."

Christine swatted his shoulder. "You always say that, you never say 'goodnight my daughter'."

Erik grinned, before lowering his mouth over hers. "True, because I love your reactions."

Christine's giggle quickly became a sigh, as she surrendered her mouth to Erik's loving, passionate kiss, her body melting as his fingers began their gentle caress.

The future contained many possibilities for them. Yes, things were looking well and positive, but Christine was not foolish enough to believe it would always be that way. However, no matter what the future held, she truly felt blessed to know that she would be facing it with this wonderful man by her side. Her dark phantom–her masked prince.

 


End file.
